Blasphemy
by DoraMouse
Summary: Set 2 years before the Dragonball series. The collapse of Chaozus empire is the focus but many other characters are included in the adventure. Discontinued. The fic Eclipse stole all my best ideas.
1. One Dead

_Blasphemy_

by DoraMouse

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball/Z/GT but I do own this story. This story is set in the year 747 A.D. - two years before the Dragonball series begins.

* * *

**One Dead...**

_**"There are two perfectly good men - one dead and the other unborn."**_

Ancient Chinese Proverb

* * *

"And this is where the body was found?"

It was an obvious conclusion to reach. The path was stained with freckles of faded red. Nearby, a broken pot of wilted flowers lay strewn across the stones. The dirt on either side of the narrow path had been raked smooth but the dirt leaking from the flowerpot was scuffed about in a manner that indicated a struggle.

"Yes." Nodded the eldest gentleman of the group. He did not need to say more, it was clear that he was worried. He had good reason to be.

Murder was never a simple affair. Formal investigations were bound to be costly and time consuming. Witnesses would often lie or forget what they'd seen in order to protect themselves from scrutiny. Investigators risked discovering a bewildering tangle of scandals which, in the end, might prove to have no real bearing on the specific crime in question.

Time was against them.

Where was the killer now? Had the killer left the city? What if the killer was still here? What if the killer was planning to strike again?

Their location made the circumstances all the more dire. Rising above the blossoming treetops behind them were a majestic collection of upswept roofs. Golden tiled roofs, each one symbolic of the sunlight it reflected. This was Imperial City, home of the Meiji Emperor, where even the lowest ranking servant had some drop of noble blood in their heritage.

If the killer was still here...

"What have you learned?" Demanded the youngest of the group.

A murder inside the Imperial City required special attention. The lead investigator had to be of noble blood but also had to be both reliable and unbiased. Which meant, inevitably, that the investigator had to be sent for. Which had, of course, only served to delay the investigation even further since it had taken more than two weeks to select the lead investigator and another week for the youth to arrive.

Why the aristocrats had chosen a fourteen year old boy with no previous experience in solving crimes, the elderly gent could not begin to fathom. But the youth did at least seem relatively calm and educated. The type of person who could easily become a decent detective, if given a few more years to mature.

"It requires some work." Admitted the elder of the group, his voice anxious. This was his way of saying that they had not made much progress.

The group consisted of five men in suitably formal attire. Traditional outfits were worn - socks, sandals, pants and layers of dark robes. None of the five men had witnessed the murder. None of the five had been close to the victim. Only the elderly gent had ever set foot in Imperial City before. Yet this was the group entrusted with solving the case and bringing the killer to justice.

Three of the men carried swords. Samurai that had been sent by the World Emperor. In addition to helping investigate, these three were expected to secure the Meiji Capital and protect everyone of importance in the area. Not an easy task by any standards. Made all the more difficult by the discriminating social politics of Meiji Imperial City. So limited were the samurai in what they could and could not do, that the chore of solving the crime ultimately fell on the shoulders of an elderly man and a fourteen year old boy who had only just met.

In the tradition of any nobleman of a respectable age, the elderly gent did not go by his name. He was addressed more formally, by a nickname that served as his title.

"Tsuru-Sennin." The youth stated. "Surely you have learned something?"

The Crane Master regarded the boy. How could he be expected to trust this stranger? And yet... What choice did he have? If the crime went unsolved or if the killer struck again, it would bring dishonor to them all. And in Imperial City, dishonor was the leading cause of public execution.

"Remind an old man of your name, boy." The Crane Master ventured. Introductions had been hastily made and quickly lost to discussions of the murder.

"Han." The young man replied, introducing himself by his last name as was the custom. Han did not look or act fourteen. He was tall for his age with a slight muscular build, a serious nature and a pair of intimidating dark green eyes half-hidden behind a wave of ebony hair.

"Ah, yes. Han." The Crane Master had heard of the family. As had every historian on the planet. Though famous for many reasons, the Han were best known for their imperial ancestors. But the current generation of the family was so numerous...

No. It was impolite to ask for first names.

"His Grace," The Crane Master began, referring to the deceased Regent of the Meiji Imperial Court, "was found dead on this spot nearly a month ago."

"Who discovered the corpse? What was the time of day?"

It was rude for someone so young to question an elder but Han did not apologize. He was here to solve a crime. He had to learn everything that he could about the case.

"A gardener. In the morning. I have interviewed him extensively," The Crane Master sighed in mild frustration, "but his memory is poor."

Han studied the ground for a while longer. Absorbing every detail of the scene before stepping back and turning towards the samurai - who stood apart from the nobleman in uncomfortable silence. With a small nod to acknowledge the veteran warriors, Han began to stroll down the path towards the distant golden-roofed pavilions. "Who else have you spoken to?"

"Nearly everyone in residence." The Crane Master confided as he walked beside the youth. The samurai trailed them at a respectful distance. "And they all have alibis."

What this implied was either that the killer had been an outsider or that someone inside Imperial City was lying.

"When you say _nearly everyone_...?" Han started to ask.

The Crane Master cringed, worry clouding his expression and reducing his voice to a nervous whisper. "I have not yet been granted an audience with the Emperor."

* * *

Regent. It was, perhaps, the single most prized title in all of history. For it meant being the Emperor without actually having to be the Emperor. It was the power without the pomp, so to speak. The crown without the ceremony.

Being regarded as a god meant that the Emperor had to live by a million unwritten rules that crept into every aspect of daily life. It was, therefore, a title of immense contradiction. According to legends, the Emperor was blessed with special powers. Yet at the same time, the Emperor could not dress himself. Period. It was not allowed. Such mundane tasks were considered unworthy of a gods attention. Thus it was up to servants to dress the Emperor and brush his teeth and basically everything else along those lines.

Emperors generally did not find their lifestyles ironic. It was what they had been raised to expect. They did not view the daily rituals as limitations on their own authority. They did, in fact, have more important things to worry about.

Regents were always a concern.

Whenever an Emperor was too young to be considered an adult, there was a Regent. A person who basically made - or at least finalized - all the important decisions and wielded the power of the throne until the Emperor was old enough to take over. Regents were not considered gods. Therefore, Regents had a lot more personal freedom than Emperors.

Power and personal freedom were a dangerous combination.

Needless to say, history was littered with the stories of young Emperors who had never quite made it to the throne. An Emperor would become ill or crippled or go missing all together and the Regent would remain in control. There were even instances in history where Emperors had been imprisoned - albeit luxuriously - just to keep them from ruling.

And now, in the Imperial City of the small Meiji Empire, the Regent was dead.

Had to be murder. That was just a given. No one ever died of natural causes in Imperial City. No one important, anyway.

* * *

The Emperor sat alone. Alone, in this context, meaning in the presence of less than fifty other people. Guards, servants, tutors, ministers, politicians, entertainers... This was as close to 'alone' as the Emperor typically got while awake. He was so completely used to being around other people that he was able to reduce the majority of them to background noise. The Emperor didn't really see or hear them anymore - they were just always there. It was sort of comforting, in a detached way.

Most of the people in the room behaved in ways that made them easy to overlook. Out of respect people kept a distance, bowed their heads and averted their eyes. Everyone spoke in quiet voices. The few people who were actually addressing the Emperor knelt AND bowed - both at once - before him. As a result, they were often speaking into the floor which tended to distort whatever they were trying to say.

The floor itself was a distraction. For security purposes, tile floors all over the empire were designed to creak and groan with every movement. The floors of Imperial City were positively musical.

So the Emperor sat alone behind the curtains of his dais, listening to melodies of the floor. Vaguely aware of the murmurs of other people in the grand hall.

He was also a smidge telepathic and therefore aware of their thoughts. It was this that disturbed the Emperor. No one had told him - well, not directly - of the Regents death. In fact, everyone in the Imperial Court seemed content to avoid mentioning the Regent. Superstition, perhaps. Mentioning the dead man might summon his unhappy ghost.

It wasn't just the fact that the Regent was dead and that an underage Emperor was now in full power - bad omens. It was the fact that the Regent had apparently been murdered.

The Emperor was the prime suspect and he knew it. No one was going to say so. No one inside Imperial City would dare to accuse their sacred leader of such a crime. Innocent or guilty, it hardly mattered. He was divine. That would excuse him.

He was fifteen years old. The murder barely concerned him. It was up to the appointed officials to sort that mess out. The Emperor was no longer bothered by such happenings. At this level of government, murder was not an uncommon event.

Instead what had caught his attention... For the first time in his sheltered life, the Emperor was beginning to realize the extent of his political power. He was immune to mortal laws. And now the Regent was gone. There was freedom in that, perhaps. Without a Regent to make the decisions... The Emperor felt that he could get away with anything. As long as he didn't push the boundaries too far. As long as he stayed on good terms with the Imperial Court.

The Emperor closed his eyes and imagined that he was outdoors. That his gaze settled upon a line of white that was barely visible in the distance. The imposing outer walls of Meiji Imperial City. He had never actually seen the wall up close. Only as a distance line of light and shadow - so that's the way he imagined it.

Imperial City was not just a city, it was its own world. Literally. Imperial City had been designed to represent the empire in miniature - complete with temples, an orchard and a mock-village set up in one section of the immense garden. Emperors did not typically leave Imperial City unless it was on fire, under attack or both. Events that, despite being somewhat frequent in history books, had only allowed a fraction of the Emperors to glimpse life beyond the walls.

But the current Emperor was fifteen. And divine. He could get away with anything. Or so he hoped. Why should anyone be upset if he went to have a look at the empire that he was now fully in charge of?

It was such a ridiculous concept - the idea of going somewhere new - that the young Emperor was instantly taken with it. He resolved to sneak away as soon as the chance was presented.

He'd already picked out a fake name to go by while mingling with the lesser ranks of society. _Chou._ It was a common enough name, he'd blend in. And just for good measure, he'd tacked on a title as well. Something vague yet respectable. _Chou Tzu._

* * *


	2. Expect Only Trouble

_Blasphemy_

by DoraMouse

* * *

**Expect Only Trouble**

_**"All people are your relatives, therefore expect only trouble from them."**_

-Ancient Chinese Proverb

* * *

It was the name. It had to be.

An important feature of life in the empire was belief. Not simply faith of the religious sort but _belief_, a sort of raw willingness to interpret everything as an omen. People from all walks of life believed in the magic of symbols and so as a result, objects were generally less important than what they represented. This idea carried over to people. An educated young man from a reasonably influential family of good reputation... Could have nearly any job he wanted. Not because he was qualified but because of what he represented.

Han was not qualified to investigate a murder. He was barely qualified to be inside Imperial City. But he was educated and young - both good omens, it meant he could learn. And his ancestors had once ruled an empire - another good omen, heritage counted for a lot in Imperial City. And to top all this off...

_Tian Shan Han._

It was - to Hans own private embarrassment - a positively divine name.

He suspected that his parents had done this to ensure that he stood apart from his siblings. The eldest brother had already moved out, settled down to a family, inherited a career from his father and was quietly prospering. The youngest, still at home, had become the favorite and would likely inherit the humble family estate.

There was not much in the inheritance department for a middle child to look forward to. The most powerful thing Han had been given was, in truth, his full name. Fame, fortune, honor - he was going to have to earn all that. The name helped. When you had a holy name, people took notice. They stopped and stared and slowly - gradually - began to believe.

It was commonly felt that a person with a holy name had to be holy, if only a little bit.

So here he was, in Imperial City to solve a murder. A fourteen year old scholar with no real qualification aside from the simple fact that people sincerely believed he was capable of great things. Miracles, even. And all because he was named after a sacred mountain range.

As far as Han was concerned, the only miracle he had ever performed was getting this job.

He pushed these thoughts aside and returned his attention to the desk of his study. Well. It wasn't _his_ study. He was just a guest here.

Already, the room was a mess. Scrolls were everywhere - some laying half unrolled, others scattered around the room in a haphazard fashion. Han was in the terrible habit of reading something and being reminded of something else, of leaving one scroll open while he went to consult other scrolls. Han began to put the scrolls away, occasionally glancing over their contents as he rolled them up. These were the written testimonies of the Imperial City residents and it was as the Crane Master had said. Everyone had an excuse. No one had seen or heard the murder. No one had spoken badly of the deceased Regent.

So, at the moment, the only real suspect was the Emperor. Because the Emperor was the one person in Imperial City who clearly benefited from the Regents death.

But accusing the Emperor was... Risky. Not impossible. Just risky. At best, such an incident could result in Han being disowned by his family and banished from the Meiji Empire for the rest of his life. At the worst, accusing an Emperor of murder could be the rough equivalent of declaring war.

There had to be someone else.

Han refused to believe that the entire population of Imperial City was honest. Someone had to be lying. Someone must have seen or heard or suspected something. It was frustrating. He was going to have to interview everyone again. Perhaps their stories would change from the testimonies they'd given to local police after the body had been found.

What Han knew of the situation so far could be easily summarized.

The Regent was dead. The corpse had been had been found on a path in a remote corner of the garden, discovered in the early morning by a gardener. The Regents body, which was being carefully preserved while the extensive ritual funeral arrangements were made, had offered no clues. No reports of bruises or cuts. No traces of poison, injury or illness. How the Regent had died was as much of a mystery as who might have killed him and why.

Why had the Regent been out in the garden so early in the morning? The killer must have known that the Regent was going to be there. Or had it been an accident? Had the Regent simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Han put the last of the scrolls into a neat pile and regarded the study with a slight shake of his head. This wasn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped.

More than anything else, Han wanted to sleep. Travel was taking its toll on him. He was tired and slightly overwhelmed - it had been a long day. But there was still daylight outside and a job to be done. He could not afford to neglect the work. With a weary sigh, Han departed the guest hut. It was time to inspect the private chambers of the deceased Regent.

* * *

"No!"

The Emperor was struck by an odd sensation. So this was what rejection felt like.

The idea of being completely alone - really alone - in an unfamiliar place did not appeal to the Emperor. Besides, the adventure would be more fun if he had someone to share it with. Unfortunately no one else seemed interested in exploring the world beyond Imperial City.

"What are you thinking Taimo-chan?!"

This was the most informal title that the Emperor was known by. Only his parents and the very dearest of friends dared to attach the affectionate '-chan' suffix to his first name. From anyone else, this would be an insult.

His friend proceeded to give a lecture that the Emperor had already heard twice from other friends. In these lectures the outside world was described as a strange place, full of danger and lacking in tradition. What if they got lost? What if they were robbed? What if... The list went on and on. Imperial City, according to the lecture, was safe and clean and full of things to be grateful for. There was no reason to leave.

The Emperor privately disagreed.

Yet the Emperor understood why his friends were doing this. Fear. His friends were afraid of the outside world. Most people raised inside Imperial City were. Even the nobles who traveled the empire didn't fully understand the culture of the commoners. And what the nobles didn't understand, they either dismissed or became afraid of.

There was another brand of fear present in the lectures as well. The fear of being caught, the fear of being blamed. Friends of the Emperor had political futures and clan reputations to think about. These people could not go off on the spur of the moment, unescorted, on some adventure. Not even if the Emperor had personally requested their company. It was, the Emperor reflected, a bit sad and ironic. Because it implied that the greatest danger of all had nothing to do with the outside world. The greatest danger was in ignoring, if only for a short while, the Imperial Court.

On the rare occasions in history when an Emperor had dared to travel, the entire Imperial Court had gone with him. Because Emperors who turned their backs on the Imperial Court generally didn't survive the experience.

The Emperor considered his options. He felt trapped - as all Emperors occasionally did. Some part of him wanted to explore the outside world, just to see what it was really like. To sort of go and make sure that the world was actually out there. But the risks...

"And while you may be immune to mortal laws, Taimo-chan," his friend concluded in a gentle tone of heartfelt concern, "none of us are immune to divine laws."

The Emperor acknowledged this truth with a reluctant nod. He was, after all, the divine ruler. If he neglected his duties then it would cause disaster. The Imperial Court could only punish him for life. The immortals of heaven could punish him for eternity. He would not explore. For now.

* * *

Aristocrats were delusional. That's all there was to it. An important man had been murdered, the killer remained at large and yet the residents of Imperial City clung to the idea that they lived in a safe place.

Well. They could have it.

Samurai were not of noble blood. The family history tended to start with farmers or other low-ranking peasants who had suddenly, for some reason or another, needed to become warriors. Maybe the farm wasn't producing enough to live off anymore. Maybe there had been a war going on and the peasants had been drafted. Whatever the reason, the fighting had been introduced.

In battle there were only three types of warriors: lucky, skilled and dead. Survivors often fell into the 'skilled' category and so it was these who had taught their descendants to fight. Samurai were the result of generations of talent being passed down. Which was why the social rank of samurai had once commanded respect. Never inside of the Imperial Court though. To the majority of nobles, samurai had always been - and would perhaps always be - viewed as dangerous peasants.

Even if they had been of noble blood, the samurai wouldn't have been allowed to stay inside Meiji Imperial City. Which was, in the long run, fine. The samurai didn't care to stay in a place full of strangers who hated them. The outside world was more comfortable and modern.

Key word: modern.

Meiji Imperial City was a place of tradition. True, Imperial City had been designed to represent the empire in miniature but the design was ancient. Electric lights existed but inside Imperial City, candles were still used. Indoor plumbing had been invented long ago yet the servants of Imperial City still hauled buckets of water from a well. A person could wander from one end of the vast compound to the other without hearing or seeing a radio, television or computer. Ever. Because there weren't any. Not in Imperial City.

Imperial City was, essentially, the same place that it had been for thousands of years.

Meanwhile the outside world was full of people wearing jeans and sneakers and talking into their mobile phones as they drove aircars to the supermarket. It was a world full of noise and technology. Cooking was done in microwaves. Electricity was generated by solar power. Inns and hotels didn't even exist anymore because it was cheaper to buy a small capsule house.

Samurai didn't technically exist either. Not out here, not anymore. The modern world had moved on. Formal social rank - with a few significant exceptions - was outdated.

Hence the three samurai found themselves in a rather unique position. Within Imperial City, they were hated. Outside Imperial City, they were forgotten and something of a curio. The samurai could hardly walk down a street without having tourists come up and ask if they'd mind being in a photograph. Modern people would see the traditional robes and assume things. So far the most common assumption was that the samurai were just local actors.

"An interesting theory." brooded Master Wen, a man in his mid-forties and the senior samurai of the trio. "But a painful one. I would almost prefer to be hated."

His two apprentices exchanged glances. They could see where this was going - another rant on honor and identity. It was a subject that Master Wen could speak about for hours, possibly days. If they didn't change the topic quickly then Master Wen would be up all night, pacing and lecturing.

"Speaking of hatred..." Ventured the eldest apprentice, a humanoid fox barely twenty years old. He carried the implements of an archer in addition to the traditional samurai set of swords. "I find it very strange that the Regent had no enemies. If everyone loved the Regent then why is he dead?"

The answer to this question was, the samurai would have been surprised to know, across the street. Taking aim.

* * *


	3. Fire

_Blasphemy_

by DoraMouse

* * *

**Fire**

_**"The fire you kindle for your enemy often burns you more than him."**_

-Ancient Chinese Proverb

* * *

What a waste of time. Han could hardly conceal his disappointment.

He'd hoped to find old letters, personal belongings - items that would have provided clues about what kind of person the Regent had been. Items that might have helped to explain how and why the Regent had died. But the Regents chambers had been empty. Every fragment of the dead mans existence was gone. Even the hiding spaces - one or two false floorboards, a few hollow spaces in the wall, a nook in the closet - had been cleared out.

Either the Regent had been planning to relocate or he had been robbed as well as murdered.

Han did not like this.

To clear out the Regents chambers without being noticed... Or perhaps, more accurately, without being seen as out of place by anyone who HAD noticed. To pull such a feat off, the killer - or the robber - or both of them, if it wasn't the same person... Almost certainly had to be a native of Imperial City.

Han was tired. Preoccupied. Upset. He'd known that the case would be a political nightmare, that part didn't surprise him too much. But... Han was new to detective work. And he couldn't help but feel that he might have made a mistake by taking the job. Because Han was starting to realize that the criminal he was after could be an experienced professional.

A disturbing realization, to say the least. Han had been hoping for something simple. An amateur assassin, to be precise. Someone who had never killed before. Someone who didn't know how to cover their tracks. A political rival or secret admirer that had just snapped and killed the Regent one day. Something petty like that.

The Regent had been murdered and robbed. But who had done it and why? Han didn't know. There weren't any clues. Perhaps the Regent had actually died of natural causes but... If that was the case then why had the Regents rooms been empty?

It was dark outside. Han was trudging across the compound, weary and absorbed in speculation as he returned to the guest room where he was staying. Dim pools of light issued from paper lanterns hung along the path. Between the lanterns, the path was consumed in deep shadows. Beyond the path... Patches of light from buildings. The glimmer of moonbeams reflected on water.

None of it was enough to show the thin plume of dark smoke rising into the sky.

And none of it prevented Han from slamming into someone.

* * *

Oh wonderful. So much for sneaking out unnoticed.

_I have got to pay more attention..._ The Emperor sighed.

Well. Sort of. He wasn't technically the Emperor at the moment. He was in disguise.

Because Emperors were holy. So Emperors weren't allowed to walk on ground that had been touched by 'impure' mortal feet. Emperors could be carried on palanquins. Emperors could ride horses, deer, elephants, dinosaurs or dragons. Emperors could sit in carriages or sit on thrones. But they weren't allowed to walk. It was another one of those unwritten commandments. Walking was undignified for an immortal, apparently.

And Emperors most certainly weren't allowed to dress up as a peasant, slip out of a window and go dashing off through the gardens at night. The shame! The dishonor!

Heads were going to roll for this. The Imperial Guards on duty would probably commit suicide the moment that they discovered he was 'lost'. The Emperor knew it. And he was sincerely sorry about that. But this was a sanity break. Not the first that the Emperor had ever taken and, more than likely, not the last. He couldn't live his whole life by the countless rules that applied to the Emperor. Not without going insane. And being of imperial descent, he'd heard plenty of horror stories about various ancestors that had gone quite insane indeed. In truth, the lives of a few Imperial Guards was a worthwhile tradeoff if it prevented him from following in the demented footsteps of those ancestors.

Before he could dash off again, a hand settled on his shoulder. The Emperor flinched. He wasn't used to this. People - mortals - weren't supposed to touch him. Everyone always kept a distance. It was a matter of respect. Purity. Tradition. Security.

This Emperor was young and a tad more open-minded than most of his ancestors had been. Plus he was trying to keep the ruse going. So he did his best to act like the peasant that he was disguised as. Which, he was fairly sure, meant no fighting back.

"In a hurry, hrmmm?" Han growled as he glared down at the offending peasant that had crashed into him. His voice was full of suspicion. "Who are you? And what's the rush?"

Silence. The Emperor wasn't sure what a peasant would have said under the circumstances. He'd never actually met a real peasant.

He'd also never met the young man in front of him. Which was not completely unheard of. Imperial City was huge. The Emperor didn't doubt that there were legions of people who'd lived on the compound for generations without meeting him or any of his ancestors. Still. The Emperor had thought that he knew everyone of the upper social ranks.

He studied the traditional badges on the young mans robe. Everyone in the Imperial Court wore at least two badges on their robes. One badge to display the occupation symbol while the second badge was decorated with the family seal. Hrmm. A scholar. Probably just visiting Imperial City then. What was the clan...

The Emperor went rigid when he caught sight of it.

A chorus of noise brought an end to the awkward confrontation.

"FIRE!"

"WAKE UP! WAKE UP! FIRE!"

The voices were distant but clear and shrill. Han was startled enough to release the 'peasant' and turn away. When he glanced back to the path, it was empty.

If anyone in the garden library had looked out the back entrance, they would have been witness to an incredible sight. A teenage boy - slender and nearly five foot tall with tan skin, shoulder length dark hair and the costume of a peasant - ran past. And as he did so, he withdrew something white from the folds of his shirt. And pressed the white object to his face. And vanished in a sudden fog.

Seconds later, a small pale figure emerged from the fog and darted into the Imperial Palace.

* * *

Outside of Imperial City, a battered middle aged man stood in the street waving his fist in the air. One fist. The other hand held a sword.

"KAMA DE ASOBA NA!!!"

When truly upset, Master Wen was capable of making strange threats in six languages. Not because he was trying to impress anyone but because he sincerely hoped that his enemies understood at least one of the six languages that his temper spoke fluently.

A pair of young men stood a yard or so behind their sensei, crouched in defensive positions with their own weapons drawn. The apprentices rolled their eyes at Master Wens continued shouts and scanned their surroundings for signs of life.

Not many people were out this time of night, this part of town. With the exception of Master Wen, all was quiet here. The occasional person passing by gave the samurai a wide berth and shot Master Wen looks of pity or distaste, as if to imply that this dear old fellow clearly belonged in a mental institution.

Master Wen ignored the looks.

"Damn it." He whispered fiercely, his voice faint and scratchy from so much shouting. For emphasis, he kicked the dirt. The ground was rather severely charred and no longer held any trace of the capsule house that the samurai had been staying in.

Master Wen didn't ask if his apprentices were hurt. No need. They were all a bit roughed up, he could see that. But they were samurai and they'd been through far worse. So they would survive. They were just lucky to have gotten out in time. Thank heaven for Mikatas sensitive hearing.

The elder apprentice managed a weak smile. Not a cheerful expression but a haunted one. "So someone wants us dead." Mikata observed in a whisper.

They hadn't seen their attacker. Couldn't give chase. Whoever it was...

"Bloody cowards!" Master Wen spat. He gestured to the buildings in the area. "Probably inside. Hidden from view. Damned modern weapons!"

Guns. A problem. Not just because these days practically any moron could get ahold of a gun with relative ease, legal or not. But because there were also capsulized guns. Which meant that any moron could CONCEAL one.

The samurai didn't see anyone around that was particularly threatening or heavily armed. However the grim truth was that every single person that they saw could have been carrying an arsenal stored in a container the size of a sugar cube. So the odds of the samurai capturing the person who had reduced their capsule house to smoldering pile of ashes were roughly the same as the odds for instant world peace. In a word, nonexistent.

Master Wen spent a few moments cursing the people who'd invented guns. He also cursed their ancestors, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, friends, relatives, pets and livestock. He even cursed their gardens - which would have been a fairly serious insult in a more traditional society.

"Uhm." Said the younger apprentice, a stout young man with a mane of shaggy black hair tied back in a ponytail. "Does anyone else smell smoke?"

As one, the trio of samurai turned. Flames were now visible over the high walls of Imperial City. Crackles and screams carried on the breeze.

If ever there had been a bad omen...

Mikata took a step back, eyes wide. Master Wen resumed cursing in every language he knew and a few that he didn't.

A flash of silver. Master Wen abruptly leveled the point of his blade at his students. "Leave. Now." And before they could protest, he added. "Get into the aircar and do not stop driving until you are back at the World Palace. Report to no less than the World Emperor. Tell him that the sun is setting in Meiji."

It was a modern world. They could have phoned the World Palace. Or sent a letter. Or an email. But these were samurai. And samurai were concerned with issues of sincerity. Letters, emails, phone calls... People could misinterpret such things. People could ignore such things. To go in person made everything so much more immediate. Less chance for misunderstandings. And no one would be able to doubt their sincerity, their honesty.

Communications technology had come a long way but it would never have quite the same impact as a disgruntled samurai on the doorstep.

"You will probably be accused of lying." Master Wen cautioned, "You may even be blamed for this crime."

Mikata nodded, worried but determined. "We - "

"Sensei, what if this is intended?" The younger apprentice asked, still visually scanning the area. "If our attacker truly wanted us dead, wouldn't they have made sure? We've made no effort to hide the fact that we survived."

Mikata perked up, similar thoughts had crossed his mind. "A report to the World Court - "

This time it was Master Wen who interrupted. "Is our sworn duty. Now leave."

Without another word, Master Wen jogged towards the end of the street where local police were converging for crowd control. Alarms all over the city were blaring, waking everyone. Master Wen was soon lost from sight among the people who were gathering on the sidewalks. Flames licked the sky. Fire engines hurtled past.

The apprentice samurai contemplated their options.

"Someone wants us dead?"

"Maybe." Mikata answered, holding the sleeve of his robe over his nose to block out the smell of smoke. "Either that or someone is trying to start a war." He took a breath then explained. "If we die here, the World Court will accuse Meiji Court of murdering us. If we stay alive, Meiji accuses us of being spies and starting fires. Strains relations either way."

"Ah." Grumbled the younger apprentice. "Politics."

Mikata sighed. "Yep."

"We're dead no matter who we report to, aren't we?"

The haunted smile returned to Mikatas features. "Probably." After a short pause Mikata sighed again. "You should go home."

"WHAT?!" The younger apprentice was more than caught off guard by the suggestion, he was insulted. "How can you even THINK that? I'm not just going to -"

"Stay alive?" Mikata finished calmly. "Look, Yaji, no offense okay? But this is out of our league. And I promised your parents that you would live to be twenty, at least. Help me keep that promise. Get out while you can."

A howling wind came out of nowhere. Dark clouds rolled in from the east with supernatural speed. Thunder shook the world. Rain. Just a soft patter at first. Then a drizzle. A sharp crack as the clouds broke and the rain came down in curtains. Then... A chill breeze. Snow.

The fire in Imperial City was out.

Cheers echoed through the streets, barely audible over the sirens and alarms that continued to serenade the city.

The storm faded as quickly as it had come.

Mikata sheathed his sword, checked his crossbow and dusted the recent snow from his robes. Despair and awe blended in his expression. "Magic." His eyes narrowed. "Definitely out of our league."

* * *


	4. The Great Question

_Blasphemy_

by DoraMouse

* * *

**The Great Question**

_**"The great question is not whether you have failed but whether you are content with failure."**_

-Ancient Chinese Proverb

* * *

Murder, robbery and now arson.

"Never a dull moment in Imperial City." The Crane Master smiled.

He stood, hands folded loosely behind his back. Fully dressed in formal robes. A thin gray mustache under a hawkish nose. His short gray hair was combed out to form the 'wings' that - along with his hat shaped like the head and neck of a crane - were the source of his nickname.

The room was dark. Standard construction. Simple decorations. In daylight, it was the token scholars retreat. Nothing fancy. Nothing suspicious. Just a small room that happened to have a good view of the Imperial Palace.

Funny thing, Imperial Palace. Hardly anyone who worked there lived past the age of fifty.

The Crane Master was a rare exception. He was three hundred and twenty nine years old. But he looked - and acted - as if he'd stopped physically aging at around seventy. So whenever the question came up... The Crane Master let people decide for themselves. He wasn't about to disclose his actual age. Who would believe him? And if someone did, what if they began to suspect something? What if they tried to force his retirement? No. He wasn't ready for that yet.

He stared out the window of his apartment. Watching the last of the snow fall. Mentally counting down. He was calm as he left his humble residence.

Imperial City was a scene of mass confusion. People were everywhere. Half-asleep and in some cases, half-dressed. Members of every social rank huddled together, talking. Asking questions. Giving orders. Trading stories. Was the Emperor all right? Was the fire an omen from heaven? Was heaven upset with them? What had they done? What had they not done? What did it mean? Fire was symbolic of so many things.

The Meiji Imperial Guards were taking charge as best they could. Torches lit the boundary walls of Imperial City. Patrols on foot were systematically searching through the buildings. Patrols on horseback swept through the gardens.

_Perfect._ The Crane Master had a few minutes before his peers in the Imperial Court would begin to wonder where he was and why he hadn't answered the calls to evacuate.

As soon as he was outside, he began to walk with a stagger. Gave the impression of someone who had twisted an ankle recently. Paused as if to rest. The branches of an ancient willow tree hung over the path.

"No challenge." Remarked a voice from above. So quietly that only a person expecting to hear the words could have heard them.

Pride flickered in the Crane Masters expression. "Hmf." He whispered without glancing up into the tree, focused instead on going through the motions of someone who was trying to get rid of a leg cramp. "That's what you always say, Tao."

Silence. Between these brothers, speech was optional. They knew each other too well. Because the Crane Master was three hundred and twenty nine years old. And Tao - who gallantly put up with being called the 'baby' at family reunions - had just turned two hundred and eighty eight.

What was left to say? What hadn't these siblings already talked about at some point in their long lives?

The silence grew. Both brothers snapped to attention, focusing on the Imperial Palace. Something was happening there. Ah. The crowds were starting to break up. Imperial Guards were sending people back to their homes.

A pair of particularly menacing guards marched briskly into the palace. Escorting someone between them.

Tao cheerfully hummed a few bars from a funeral march.

The Crane Master straightened up, shaking his head ever so slightly at his brothers unique sense of humor. "Better and better." Recovered from the leg-cramp act, he moved towards the palace. "I do believe that was Han."

* * *

The main hallway of Meiji Imperial Palace was lined with paintings that were the despair of every historian on Earth.

It was easy to see why.

The first painting depicted a small human with pale skin, dark oval eyes, bright red cheek spots and all the formal symbols of office on his robes. The next painting appeared to be the same figure in a different robe, painted from a different angle and posed in front of a different background. The name of the subject - deliberately written in such small print that it was nearly illegible - had also changed. And so it went, all the way down the hall.

People who couldn't read would walk away with the impression that the first Emperor and the current Emperor were the exact same person. People who could read might wonder why every single one of the Meiji Emperors had been a pale midget.

The answer, which historians disliked, was quite simple. Magic.

Magic to protect the Emperors true identity. To make all the Meiji Emperors look identical. To give the impression that the Emperor was a descendant of heaven. To give the impression that the Emperor was immortal. Meiji Imperial Court WANTED people to believe that the first Emperor and the current Emperor - and all the Emperors inbetween - were one and the same.

So in official records, both new and ancient... The Emperor was called just that: The Emperor. His Supreme Majesty. Son of Heaven. His actual name, age, personality and personal life were rarely mentioned. Births, weddings and funerals were written off under the vague heading of 'holy celebrations' in the imperial accounts.

The actual identity of the Meiji Emperor was the best kept secret in the empire. Perhaps even the best kept secret on Earth. And yet, at the same time, stories about the legendary powers of the Meiji Emperor were among the most popular and numerous in the world.

* * *

Han had never really believed the stories but he was beginning to wonder if there was any truth to them. Where had that sudden snowstorm come from? Where had the fire come from?

Where were these guards taking him?

And why did it seem as if the paintings were watching them?

Han decided that this last bit was the result of too much stress in one day. Paintings did not watch people, that was just all there was to it. Still. Han avoided looking at the art as he was marched down the hallway.

The guards turned, lead him outside, crossed a covered terrace, entered another building, went down another corridor, another turn...

After a while of this, Han had lost his sense of direction. Which was, he thought, probably what the guards wanted. Han knew that he could fight the guards if he had to. But Imperial Guards were considered government property and the punishment for damaging government property hardly made self-defense worthwhile.

"Here."

The guards now stood on either side of a door, one pushed the door open.

Han cautiously peered inside. He wasn't quite sure what he'd expected to see but this didn't look too awful. If anything, it was an upgrade from the guest hut that he'd been assigned to earlier. Bigger. More luxurious.

Confused, Han brushed his bangs out of his face and blinked inquisitively at the guards.

"Your new quarters." Shrugged the guard that was holding the door open. "By order of the Emperor."

Han appraised the room more solemnly. He didn't see any traps. "To what do I deserve this honor?" Han asked in a way that made his real question - _'is the Emperor trying to kill me for some reason?'_ - quite clear.

The guards were nervous which meant that they didn't know. Or maybe the guards did know but weren't allowed to tell him. Not a comforting thought. The guards politely informed Han that some servants would bring his belongings over and that he was to report to the Hall of Supreme Harmony in the morning.

"Better try to get some rest." The second guard advised.

"You're not leaving?" Han realized and the eerie sensation of being watched returned. He wished that the guards faces weren't so well concealed by their helmets. It was hard to be certain of the guards intentions without being able to see their expressions.

"No, lad." The first guard stated. "There's just been a fire."

So of course the guards would have to keep a special watch over all the important people in Imperial City until things had calmed down. Han was mildly flattered and at the same time, threatened. These weren't his family's guards. These were Imperial Guards. What if they came in while he was asleep and stabbed him? What if they had been ordered to...

"I can't accept this." Han stepped back from the doorway and the guards. "It's very gracious." An idea took shape, Han seized it. "Now if you'll please excuse me, I think that I may have seen the person who started the fire and I have to go - "

"Oh?" The guards were interested, "And what did this person look like?"

Han quickly described the peasant that he'd run into earlier. He hoped that the guards would leave to search for the boy. Instead, the guards exchanged sideways glances. Did they think he was lying?

Fires, especially fires in Imperial City, were generally viewed as signs from heaven. Guards could not be blamed for fires caused by heaven. On the other hand, if some mortal - some peasant - had broken into Imperial City and started the fire... That would reflect very badly on the Imperial Guards.

Abruptly Han understood his mistake. If the guards hadn't had any reason to want him dead before, they had one now. He kept backing away. "Didn't anyone else see - ?"

"Han!" Someone called. The tiles creaked with approaching footsteps.

Glad for the interruption, Han turned to see who had called his name. He immediately recognized the person. "Tsuru - "

Thud. Thud.

Han spun back around, blinking.

The guards were on the floor. Terminally. Han shuddered and looked away.

"Oh dear." The Crane Master remarked as he came to a stop beside Han. "What a mess. Good thing I was here."

Han was in too much shock to reply with any emotion. "It is?"

"Yes. I can attest to your innocence." Lowering the volume of his voice, the Crane Master added. "Would be a shame, to have you accused of murder on your first day in Imperial City."

"You... can..." Hans brain quietly assembled the facts. He was a guest in Imperial City. Two Imperial Guards were dead. Only one witness. It would be his word against an elder member of the Meiji Imperial Court. He'd be found guilty unless... Unless the Crane Master supported his claim of innocence.

"Yes. I can." The Crane Master beamed, "For a price, of course."

How had the guards died? Han wasn't sure. It had happened so quickly. Could that happen to him? If he disagreed with the Crane Masters offer, would he be found dead as well? Was this what had happened to the Regent?

"Of course." Han replied, managing to sound more confident than he felt. He would play along for now. Fourteen was too young to die.

* * *

Sixteen was too young to die. But samurai weren't supposed to believe that.

To walk away from an employer - no. Work was not easy to come by these days. And it never looked good on the resume, walking out. Samurai weren't supposed to quit. It was a matter of principle. Of sincerity. Of honor. Finishing what one started and all that. If a job was so bad that a samurai wanted to leave - then it was the samurai's fault for having accepted the job in the first place.

And when the employer was the World Government... Then leaving a job was viewed as treason. Which was punishable by death. Or worse.

_How do we always get into these situations?_ Yajirobe wondered. But not for very long because what mattered, really, was that they'd always gotten out of these situations.

Master Wen had told him to leave and report to the World Emperor. Mikata - who had gone off in search of Master Wen - had told him to just plain leave. It was basically assured that no matter what he did or who he reported to, someone would try to kill him. Again.

People were almost constantly trying to kill the samurai. They seemed to have a knack for attracting that sort of attention. Perhaps one of Master Wens many enemies had caught up to them. Maybe that's who had tried to kill them all earlier. Or maybe it was someone else. Yajirobe didn't know. But he'd spent a decent portion - had it already been nine years? - of his life escaping from death repeatedly. So he wasn't about to let the threat of death scare him away from a job.

He had been sent to help solve the mystery of the Regents murder. Sent to help guard Meiji Capital City. The arrogant Imperial Guards, he knew, didn't want his assistance. Wouldn't tell him anything. And the police of Meiji Capital - the sprawling modern metropolis built all around Imperial City - would probably take one look at his traditional outfit, figure that he was a mental case and lock him up. So why should he go to the local authorities?

Yajirobe saw this as a welcome opportunity to do some investigating on his own.

A lot had changed in the last few centuries. Technology. Fashion. Lifestyles in general. But some things hadn't changed. Finding answers, for example, had always been a matter of knowing where to go, what to look for and who to ask.

* * *

_Cripes..._ The Emperor was exhausted. Summoning the localized snowstorm had drained his energy but he did his best not to let his weariness show. It was his duty to act calm and composed at times like these - someone had to do it. The other members of Imperial Court weren't quite up to the task of being elegant just now.

Most of the lower ranked members had already gone back to bed but the highest ranking ministers were standing around being rude and grouchy. The pavilion echoed with their debates.

The Emperor coughed. The arguments instantly fell silent.

"Do a preliminary inspection of the fire damage now. Do a more thorough inspection in the morning, after the sun has risen. If anything is missing or anyone is dead, I want to know as soon as possible."

After a pause - done out of habit since there were hardly ever any objections to his orders - the Emperor nodded.

With the exception of the ever-present guards, a few servants scrubbing the floor and a musician quietly strumming a lute in dark corner - the room was cleared. Inwardly, the Emperor sighed. It would be easier to determine the cause and purpose of the fire once the fire damage was known. Whatever had been burned down would be taken as an omen. If a rose garden had been destroyed then all the superstitious people would spend a few months avoiding roses and then things could get back to normal.

Currently, however, the Emperors mind was focused not so much on the cause of the flames but on how the fire had been put out. Magic. His magic. The spells that the Emperor knew worked best when he was inside the Imperial Palace. If he cast the spells while outside, the magic was weakened. If he ever managed to escape Imperial City, the magic probably wouldn't work at all.

Had it been sheer bad luck that the fire had started when he was outside? Or did someone else know about the limitations of his magic? The Emperor didn't like this possibility.

Even more disturbing were thoughts of the Han family. Of all the clans that the Emperor wanted to avoid...

The Han empire no longer existed but in its day, it had been truly immense. Meiji was a relatively young empire built on a tiny piece of the former Han nation. Needless to say, the change of imperial family had not come about peacefully. It had taken several bloody conquests to remove the Han dynasty from power. Grudges had been held, scattered fights between Han descendants and various government authorities had continued for eons.

So the Emperor found it easy to conclude that perhaps a certain visiting scholar from the Han family had started the fire. But how to punish someone whose family had one of the largest private armies on Earth?

* * *


	5. Trials

_Blasphemy_

by DoraMouse

* * *

**Trials**

_**"A gem cannot be polished without friction nor a man perfected without trials."**_

-Ancient Chinese Proverb

* * *

"This IS Imperial City." A calm voice observed. "Most of the buildings here DO have a view of the Imperial Palace."

Han folded his arms to keep from fidgeting and did his best to clear his mind. This was starting to get on his nerves. He was standing by the window. But he hadn't said anything, not since yesterday evening. He'd been THINKING that the room had a good view of the Imperial Palace but he hadn't said anything. And that meant...

"How long have you been able to read minds, Tsuru-Sennin?" Han allowed only the faintest hints of anger to taint his voice. "Really, I'm surprised that your investigation hasn't made more progress."

The Crane Master smirked but kept a civil tone. "Oh now, what was that proverb? The one given to us by that famous old general. A classic quote." It was obvious that the old man knew the answer but he seemed to enjoy acting forgetful. He was waiting for someone else to say the words. The Crane Master leered in Hans direction. "You're a scholar, boy - you must have heard of it."

"I have no idea - " Han started.

A harsh laugh drifted down into the room. "People are idiots."

The Crane Master snapped his fingers triumphantly. "That's the one!" Another sickeningly smug grin. "So you see, Han, mind-reading is not actually all that helpful. Because thoughts are typically just as moronic and unreliable as the people who are thinking them."

"Wasn't it the notorious General Han that gave the world that proverb?" The harsh voice drifted down into the room again. "So the boy can't even quote his own ancestors. How disappointing."

Han scowled upwards. He didn't see anyone but there were certain benefits to being the middle child of a military family. Growing up in and around fights had improved Hans perception. He didn't always have to see his opponent. The blindfolded training sessions had paid off. If he concentrated, Han could sometimes detect people.

A quick flick of the hand and a small blast of pale green energy was all it took to bring one of the ceiling beams crashing down. Tao recovered from his surprise quickly enough to avoid the attack but he had to abandon his hiding place to do so.

The dust settled. Outside, alarmed voices could be heard.

"Oh wonderful." Tao hissed from above. "Just had to go and wake the neighbors."

The Crane Master surveyed the damage to his home without much emotion. He'd been thinking about a change of decor anyway. He tilted his head and feigned an exaggerated yawn. "I'm sorry, was that supposed to be impressive or something?"

Han bristled at the remark. How could anybody take his skill so lightly? At home, the energy attack usually had people screaming and running away. It was a mild attack - Han could admit that much, he'd always felt that there had to be the potential for more power - but he'd trained hard for years in order to earn the rare privilege of having visible ki. At home, even the warriors that had disagreed with his methods had always respected his efforts. Nobody had ever insulted...

But anger was not going to get questions answered.

"I know who that is." Han gestured at the ceiling and forced his voice to remain neutral. He was moving as he spoke, retreating toward a gash in the wall that had been created by the fallen ceiling beam. He watched the Crane Master with his eyes but had that sixth sense, the warriors awareness, fixed on Tao. "Guess that brings this investigation to a close. But would you mind telling me why you hired the Worlds Greatest Assassin to kill the Regent, Tsuru-Sennin? I'm just curious."

The Crane Master was smirking in a way that, strangely enough, did not look evil. "Children today." The old man remarked, "Always in such a hurry. Can't even stop to get their facts straight."

A moment of confusion was all it took to break Hans concentration and in that moment, a streak of color dropped from the ceiling and landed behind Han. In a few quick steps the Crane Master had crossed the room. Han was now surrounded.

"This," The Crane Master nodded towards his sibling, "is my little brother, Tao Pai Pai. He is also my best student. He did not kill the Regent and, unfortunately, he is not the Worlds Greatest Assassin. Yet."

"It's rather complex." Tao had a smile that managed to be relaxed and venomous at the same time. "We'll have to explain the details later. Provided that you survive, of course."

With an explosive thud, the wooden door snapped into pieces and a burly guard in full armor came charging into the room.

"Tsuru-Sennin!" A cluster of guards and servants filled the doorway and stared at the devastation caused by the ceiling beam, everyone speaking at once.

"We heard the noise..."

"Are you all right, Tsuru-Sennin?"

"Oh my goodness!"

"What is going on here? Sir! How did this happen?"

The burly guard finished removing shards of the door from the joints of his armor. He stepped forward, saluted the Crane Master and spoke. "Sir, if you'd be kind enough to come this way then..." The guards stance made it clear that the Crane Master was the only noble in the room that he recognized. So the guard was prepared to defend the Crane Master from what he assumed were criminals.

Mildly amused by the guards assumptions, the Crane Master held up his hands for silence. When everyone was paying attention, he spoke. "Allow me to introduce my guests." He said. Tao was perfectly capable of killing the guard in public - a situation that the Crane Master hoped to prevent. "This is Han, a scholar visiting Imperial City. And this is Tao, my personal security advisor."

* * *

Many books and films of the mystery genre would have the world believe that detectives spend rather a lot of time having surprisingly meaningful discussions in bars.

Yajirobe had absolutely no desire to go anywhere near a bar. Ever. The smell of alcohol had always repelled him and besides, it was pointless. Drunk people might be more willing to answer questions but what good would that do if they lied or just made their answers up? Since Yajirobe was seeking accurate information, he preferred to deal with sober people.

Of course, sober people could lie as well.

Honest answers were going to have to come from honest people. And the most honest people, in any criminal investigation, were the ones who had nothing to lose.

Since the majority of respectable businesses were closed at night, Yajirobe had spent the balance of the prior evening walking the streets of Meiji Capital. He'd ended up outside a recycling center, where he'd dozed fitfully once or twice in the shadows of a fire escape. The wait had proven worthwhile - morning had brought the prize he'd expected. Telephone booths. Rows of them. In this modern age of credit cards and mobile videophones, coin-operated public pay phones were considered clumsy antiques. The booths were being collected and scrapped by the hundreds. So no one should mind if...

Creak. Swish. Swish. Chink.

Viola.

The really old phone booths contained rotary phones with thick, dusty paperback phone books chained to the wall. A few slightly newer booths had touch-tone phones and a small computer that functioned as a digital phone book. Yajirobe wasn't terribly fond of computers but in this case, he made an exception. The computer was easier to carry than the phone book and since the information inside the computer wasn't printed on paper, it wasn't as likely to be outdated.

Besides, he wouldn't need the computer for long.

Two sides of the recycling center were surrounded by a small but well-landscaped garden complete with cobblestone paths and a few sets of patio furniture. In good weather the employees probably ate their lunches at the plastic picnic tables. Yajirobe settled at a table, surpressed a yawn and began to make notes. Years of escaping death had taught him the value of mind over matter. As long as he concentrated on the murder investigation then thoughts of hunger, pain and sleep wouldn't disturb him. Much.

Meiji Public Library was the first address that Yajirobe made note of. The local history museum was next. He scrolled through the business directory and wondered where else to go, who else to question. Didn't Imperial City have to import some supplies from the outside world? So maybe a retail warehouse or a farmers market? And who managed the finances of the Imperial Court? No. A bank probably wouldn't answer questions about their clients. Perhaps he could visit a news studio instead, chat with some journalists - they were such talkative types.

Yajirobe arced an eyebrow in surprise. A name on the screen had caught his attention: Miyamoto. The business was listed as a cafe. Yajirobe didn't know the Miyamoto family personally but he did recognize the surname of the once-famous samurai. There was a good chance that the owners of the Miyamoto Cafe had no relation to the deceased legend. Yajirobe made a note of the address anyway. It couldn't hurt to ask.

The computer screen started to fade. The digital phone book had been programmed to shut down when idle for a minute or more, a standard feature for any public computer. Yajirobe wasn't aware of this. He decided that the computer was broken and left it on the picnic table.

* * *

Walking behind the Crane Master and Tao Pai Pai did not give Han much of chance to find similarities between the brothers. They both wore the same style of dark green robes with golden trim but other than that it was the differences that stood out. Tao was younger and taller, with long black hair tied back in a single thick braid. And while Tao was not overly muscular, the Crane Master almost looked fragile next to him.

Almost. Han had heard stories about Tao, so Han knew for a fact that Tao was far more dangerous than he looked. And if the Crane Master was Tao's teacher...

"I want to know the truth." Han whispered. "How many assassins are here?"

The Crane Master replied with a passive shrug. "How many stars are in the sky?"

Not good news but it made sense. Assassins were paid to kill. The more important their victim-to-be, the better they got paid. So of course assassins were going to be abundant in Imperial City. The hard part, then, was knowing who to trust. Han was beginning to understand why the Crane Master had introduced him as a scholar instead of as a detective. It was probably dangerous to be known as a detective in Imperial City. With so many killers around, the mere presence of a detective was bound to make someone nervous. What if one of the servants was a professional assassin? What if the one of the guards or a low-ranked noble...?

An idea unfolded in Hans mind. He didn't like this idea. What if the Regent had been an assassin? Maybe someone had killed the Regent in order to get revenge for a different murder that the Regent had already committed. That would definitely complicate things.

Yet Han could not concentrate much on the mystery anymore. He was preoccupied with a more immediate concern: death. His own.

At this point, Han figured that he was as good as dead. The older men would probably kill him at their convenience. They hadn't been afraid of his energy attack and now they were letting Han walk behind them. Attacking or trying to escape were obviously useless - if there had been the slightest chance for such plans to work then Han would have been forced to lead the way and he knew it.

He walked in silence, absorbed in thought.

The Crane Master had claimed that Tao was innocent but that could have been a lie. Maybe Tao had killed the Regent. And maybe Hans death would serve to further some unknown plan. Was someone trying to lure the Han Army into Meiji? Would Hans death be enough to make his family declare war? Han didn't understand the motives, the reasoning. What was the goal? What could be achieved by disrupting...

Eventually Han gave up on trying to make sense of the situation. His thoughts degenerated into morbid imaginings. Suddenly everything in area seemed grim and threatening. Vivid little scenes of death flashed across his mind. Maybe he would be hung here or shot over there or strangled and pushed into a pond. There were so many possibilities.

Would anyone miss him, when he died? Would anyone notice? He was so far from home... What if his family never found out? And he was only fourteen - all the things he'd never gotten to do...

The world seemed to blur away, lost amid a wave of homesickness and sorrow. Han was dimly aware of the fact that he'd stopped walking.

"Come on."

The wave of emotion passed and the world came back into focus. Han was startled to see that Tao was now standing beside him. The Crane Master stood a few yards ahead in an impatient posture.

"We're not going to kill you." Tao said cheerfully as he nudged Han forward. "But the Emperor might, if you keep him waiting."

* * *

All the rooms in Meiji Imperial Palace were, technically, throne rooms. Thrones were everywhere in the palace simply because the Emperor was not allowed to sit on any other kind of furniture. But there was one room that was considered the main throne room. Although really, 'room' wasn't even the proper word for it.

The Hall of Supreme Harmony was a wonderful example of what insanity and wealth could achieve. It was built to giant proportions, designed to make everyone inside feel tiny. The space was circular yet the distance was so great that a person entering one end of the hall would not be able to see the other side. The ceiling was supported by numerous tiers of wide wooden columns that stretched upwards out of sight.

This was where the Imperial Court assembled to debate the law. This was where the important guests were received and treaties were signed. This was where the Emperor presided over the welfare of the empire. The Hall of Supreme Harmony radiated authority. The size of the hall was meant to intimidate guests - and the details were meant to impress them.

Every millimeter of the hall was decorated. Complex murals were engraved on the ceiling, painted on the walls and carved into each of the columns. The floor was a colorful tile mosaic, covered in places by carpets woven with intricate patterns. Cut-glass windows with fragile silk curtains. Antique tables with claw-shaped feet. Teacups with feather-shaped handles. Marble statues and porcelain vases of every shape and size. Sculpted candles, dragon-head torch holders and polished wall fixtures. Everything - from the elaborate raised dais where the main throne was located down to the braided yellow tassels on the red velvet cushions - was expertly done. The best of the best. No expense had been spared.

The Hall of Supreme Harmony was the envy of every art museum on Earth.

It was also far too quiet today. Nearly a hundred people were gathered in the hall - servants and nobles of every rank - and all of them were nervous. The few conversations being held were whispered. Not a single note of music broke the silence. The musicians had probably been told to leave, this was one of those occasions when music was considered impolite.

The Emperor sighed, thinking of all the places that he'd rather be.

Earlier that morning - not long after sunrise - the fire damage report had come in and the news had not been good. The fire had claimed one of the most important shrines inside Imperial City. Three people were dead. An elderly monk had suffocated in the smoke and the bodies of two Imperial Guards had been found nearby.

While the human cost was terrible, what frightened people the most was the symbolism. If a shrine burned down then it could only mean that the gods were upset. The dead people - their souls could be put to rest with the proper funeral arrangements. But how to appease the gods?

The Emperor was considered a god. He was supposed to know these things. But he was only fifteen years old and he wasn't entirely sure how to proceed. For the first time, the Emperor missed having the Regent alive. The Regent would have known what to do.

Other high-ranked members of Imperial Court had tried to give the Emperor polite suggestions but the Emperor was wary of taking their advice. Nobles had their own goals and agendas. Taking advice from one noble would cause unrest among the others. The Emperor had to remain independent in order to keep authority in the Imperial Court.

So the Emperor had decided to wait. Monks from both Orinji Temple and Dragon Pagoda had already been summoned to come conduct the Regents funeral. No doubt they would also agree to bury the elderly monk and the deceased Imperial Guards. And no one in the Imperial Court could argue with the wisdom of the Emperor if he turned to the monks for guidance on how to deal with upset gods.

It was just a matter of waiting, then. Waiting in a quiet hall full of nervous people whispering about fires from heaven and bad omens. Such a tense atmosphere that every minute seemed to drag on for hours. The Emperor wasn't sure how much of this he could take. If something didn't happen soon then he was going to have to find an excuse to leave for a while.

Being psychic made the Emperor vulnerable to the mood of the Imperial Court. When surrounded by nervous unhappy people, the Emperor was bound to become miserable. There was no positive energy here.

A gong sounded at the far end of the hall. New signals touched the Emperors awareness.

Without even seeing the Crane Master, the Emperor acknowledged him. The old man was the only other adept psychic in the Meiji Imperial Court and his presence always threatened to give the Emperor a migraine. It was obviously a mutual feeling. The Crane Master wore a pained expression and kept as much distance as he could between himself and the throne. This made speaking to the Emperor impractical so a scroll was passed.

While waiting for the messenger to arrive at the dais with the scroll, the Emperor studied the two men who had entered the hall with the Crane Master. He recognized Tao Pai Pai as being the Crane Masters brother. He almost didn't recognize Han. Last time that the Emperor had seen him, Han had been full of confidence. Now the scholar was staring at his feet with an unreadable expression.

The Emperor felt a pang of concern. What had happened to the boy? The last thing the Emperor needed right now was to have an upset Han Army come marching into his empire. He tried to read Hans mind but found it too active to make clear sense out of. Resignation, regret, panic... The Emperor blinked. This could not be good.

_Maybe I was right._ The Emperor suddenly thought, _Maybe he did start the fire and now he's been caught._

That would explain the jumbled impressions he'd gotten from Hans mind but... It didn't explain the lack of malice. There wasn't any hostility in Hans mind. No criminal intent. Had someone forced him to start the fire? What if the young man was being framed?

A noble knelt and held up the scroll. Distracted, the Emperor took a moment to accept the scroll and open it. He read the note quickly, aware that a room full of curious eyes were upon him. He tried not to flinch.

In the short note, the Crane Master explained that his chambers had been recently destroyed. He requested new quarters and demanded the right to have his brother stay in Imperial City as an independent personal security advisor. The suggestion that not even Imperial Guards could be trusted was a chilling one. The Emperor was almost constantly in the company of Imperial Guards.

The Emperor closed his eyes. He would have preferred to respond verbally. He wouldn't have minded taking a pen in hand and writing like a normal person. But that was not what he'd been taught. So he focused his energy on an ink quill and slowly, with telekinesis, composed the formal written reply.

_Tsuru-Sennin -_

Your requests are reasonable therefore, in these matters, you have heavens blessing. The Right Minister will issue a pass for your brother and locate suitable new quarters for you.

The Emperor paused. He had done all that was required. There was no need to write anything more. Except... The Emperor was worried. If he couldn't trust Imperial Guards then what protected him from becoming the next victim? And Han... Was Han guilty of starting the fire or not? The Emperor wanted to figure the boy out, wanted to avoid conflict with the Han family if possible. Locking the scholar up wouldn't achieve much. How did you keep track of someone if they were locked up in a dungeon, out of sight? Who would continue the investigation?

After some consideration, the hovering quill began to move again. Trailing red ink across the scroll as the Emperor wrote.

_The Imperial Court has great interest in the outcome of the investigation concerning the Regents death. Under the circumstances, we recommend that the scholar be kept at the Emperors side._

It wasn't a suggestion but a polite order. They couldn't refuse. Keeping the scholar close would allow the Emperor to determine just what, if anything, the boy was guilty of. Plus it would allow Han to observe the Imperial Court - which might help the investigation. And it could even be a form of security. The Regents killer, if still in the area, would be less likely to target the Emperor when a detective was at his side.

The Emperor nodded, releasing his telekinetic hold on the quill and passing the scroll down to the waiting noble. He watched the message travel across the room and felt the Crane Masters unspoken surprise at the decision.

* * *

Imperial City was its own private world, divided into two distinct sections.

A wide plaza, an imposing outer wall, several thousand coils of barbed wire and numerous guard towers separated the modern world from what was called the 'lower passage'. The extensive gardens, a maze, a moat, three inner walls and many more guard towers separated the lower passage from sacred ground.

"Forbidden City." A girl rolled her eyes slightly to add emphasis to her sarcasm. "The inner city, home of the upper class. Where the 'real work' gets done."

She was standing in a waist-high heap of laundry. As she continued speaking, the girl lifted each article of clothing and inspected it. Clothing in need of repairs - patches to cover holes, fading decoration, missing buttons - was thrown into one basket. Another basket held fabric with stains that required special attention. At least twenty other baskets contained clothing to be washed, sorted by size and color. More baskets filled with items like towels, sheets, tablecloths and curtains were stacked high along two walls.

"And all this is just from the servants!" The girl grumbled.

It was a wide room, brimming with piles of cloth and filled with the warm drifting mists that were created by a massive steam-powered contraption in the next room. Clotheslines hung from the ceiling. The back wall supported several rows of shelves where the finished folded laundry was placed. Periodically a barefoot maid with soapy hands would wander in with an empty basket and trade it for one of the full ones. Snatches of singing, humming, vigorous scrubbing and the creaking of large machines filtered into the room. The potent smells of soap, starch and crushed herbs tainted the air.

Getting into the most sacred section of Imperial City to visit the nobles and see the palaces was not an easy task. On the other hand, getting into the lower passage to help the servants do the daily laundry...

Well, a job was a job. And the client had been right, no questions had been asked.

"Can you find Cheon on your own? He's the main manager." The girl spoke rapidly without pausing in her work. "We're running behind today. Cheon should be at the kitchens - that's just beyond the duck pond, next to the blacksmith. If he's not there, ask around. Someone will know where he is. Once Cheon has taken your information and given you a uniform, you can get started."

The girl hesitated and smiled apologetically towards the door. "Forgive me, I'm terrible with names. Would you mind...?"

"Lunch." Replied the young woman who stood in the doorway. She had blonde hair that curled over her shoulders, a smudged complexion and emerald green eyes. She wore a bright tank top, dark jeans, fingerless gloves and steel-toed combat boots. A half-empty pack of cigarettes protruded from the pocket of her leather jacket. "People just call me Lunch."

* * *


	6. Broken Nest

_Blasphemy_

by DoraMouse

* * *

**Broken Nest**

_**"In a broken nest there are few whole eggs."**_

Ancient Chinese Proverb

* * *

Surprise was an understatement.

Han sat on the carpeted steps beside the throne in stunned silence. He didn't know what to think about his situation anymore. He was grateful to be away from the Crane Master but... Why had the Emperor taken a sudden interest in the case?

It shouldn't have been surprising, really. The Emperor SHOULD have an interest in the outcome of the investigation. After all, if the Emperor was innocent - if someone else had murdered the Regent - then the Emperor was a potential target. And if the Emperor was guilty... That would complicate things. But it would be strange, for anyone guilty of murder to be disinterested in the investigation of that murder.

Would the Emperor try to influence the investigation? Who was really guilty here? Who could be trusted?

What Han quickly realized - and reluctantly admitted to himself - was that he didn't know yet. He was just going to have to sit back and watch and listen and think. And maybe once he'd heard the story from twenty different perspectives, perhaps then he could piece the mystery together and figure it all out.

He was mildly disappointed with this conclusion, it seemed like such a disorganized approach. Han wasn't aware of the fact that this wait-and-see tactic was the favorite problem solving method of every nonfictional detective. Because Han had grown up reading the type of stories that made detective work look painfully simple. Naturally, Han had expected real life detective work to be more difficult but not to this degree. There was just so much uncertainty in real life... It was frustrating. Han felt limited. He had hoped to solve the case without resorting to large amounts of speculation.

The trouble with this logic was that the Emperor - and most other members of the Imperial Court - were potential targets. Always had been and always would be. In fact the more that Han thought about it, the more reasons for murder he came up with. He had soon compiled a mental list of ten reasons to kill the Emperor that didn't even require any personal grudges.

At this point Han had to pause to prevent the word _'doll'_ from wandering across his mind. He decided that it was probably disrespectful to think of the local divine ruler as a doll, despite the physical resemblance. Maybe it was symbolic - the pale skin, the cheek spots, the midget proportions. Maybe this was something done deliberately to make the Meiji Emperor look young, innocent and fragile.

One train of thought lead to another. Han spent a while considering his own ancestors. The ancestors that had once ruled an empire had died long before Hans birth. But he'd seen life-size statues and paintings of them. Most of the men had been depicted in military uniforms. The women, meanwhile, were a mixed bunch. Some of the women were very pretty but even in their fading portraits, the ladies smiled in a way that implied the presence of hidden daggers and small vials of poison. Other females boldly carried their weapons in the open for all to see and a few of the women were shown wearing long dark robes plus wide-brimmed hats of the pointy variety. Just the way they stood - proud and confident, strong and focused - radiated a sense of authority that continued to command respect. Witches, assassins, spies and soldiers. Emperors.

None of them had been innocent or fragile. Not as far as Han knew.

So the appearance of the Meiji Emperor geniunely startled Han. Why would any ruler want to look innocent and fragile, like a porcelain doll? Wouldn't that just invite an attack? Wouldn't every neighboring power decide that this ruler looked weak and easy to conquer? How could people feel secure in this empire? The Meiji Emperor didn't exactly strike fear into the hearts of enemies or anything. In appearance, the Meiji Emperor didn't even fit Hans definition of a leader. Though Han was willing to concede that there was a lot more to leadership than appearance.

Young. That was what stuck out the most. The Emperor appeared to be young. A mere child. This bothered Han because it raised some sensitive questions. There wasn't a polite way to inquire how the Emperor had gained the throne at such a young age.

What if the Emperors parents had died? What if they had been murdered? What if that's how the child had been put on the throne? If that was the situation... How might the Regent fit in? Could the Regent have killed the Emperors parents? Or might the Regent - and perhaps the Emperors parents as well - have been victims to someone who wanted the current Emperor in full power? What if the Crane Master...?

Suddenly Han was full of questions that he didn't want to offend anyone by actually asking. He tried to brush the thoughts away, inwardly hoping that he was wrong. It could be dangerous to be right about these kinds of things. Han spent a few idle moments tuning in to his surroundings, admiring the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Listening to the ministers debate some new policy.

There were many ranks of noble in the Imperial City. Yet the highest ranking nobles in the Imperial Court were, oddly enough, the ones with the simplest titles. Left Minister. Right Minister. Prime Minister. The Emperor was not even on the scale here because the Emperor was considered a god. 'Noble' was a strictly mortal rank that an Emperor could not achieve.

The ministers... Left Minister was responsible for dealing with the outside world on the behalf of Imperial City. He ordered any item that had to be imported, recruited soldiers and probably communicated with spies all over the world. Right Minister was responsible for dealing with the internal affairs of Meiji Imperial City. Everything from housing assignments and uniform design to issuing guest passes and picking out the invitations for special ceremonies fell to the Right Minister. And then there was the Prime Minister. In addition to supervising all that Left and Right did, the Prime Minister was a combination of lawyer, historian and accountant. Thus the Prime Minister occupied much of his time with keeping written records of expenses and important events.

Every other noble residing inside Meiji Imperial City worked, either directly or indirectly, for at least one of these three ministers.

Except... The Regent. The Regent would have outranked even the Prime Minister.

Han abruptly wondered how many of the Imperial Court nobles might have ever had ambitions that involved replacing the Regent or taking over the empire. Han allowed his mind to explore the idea. The ministers would certainly have the connections to pull off a rebellion. Had the ministers gotten along with the Regent? Had they gotten along with the previous Emperor? Might they be planning to harm the current Emperor? Maybe one of the ministers was an assassin. Maybe -

Maybe it would be best to leave. This investigation would only get more tangled and risky as it proceeded. At first, Han had been worried about the lack of suspects and motives. Now his concern had reached the opposite extreme. There were too many suspects, too many motives and zero trust. The nobles were not about to confide in him. Nobody was going to just wander up and confess.

Leaving before the case had been solved would, of course, be dishonorable but at least he would get out alive. Han was only fourteen. He would have the rest of his life to redeem his honor and prove his worth. And he could, he was sure of it. Han felt certain that if he walked away from the case in order to preserve his survival then he would be able to earn greatness in some other career. His family would eventually forgive him for abandoning this opportunity. He would...

He would spend the rest of his life wondering what might have happened if only he'd stuck with the case.

Han sighed. The job had captured his interest and challenged his judgment. He couldn't leave the work unfinished. Not if he wanted any peace of mind.

True - the Regents murder was still a mystery. And the utter lack of clues in the Regents chambers, that was a mystery too. And the recent fire in Imperial City. And... Well. There were a lot of mysteries now. But Han had already learned so much about Imperial City and its residents, he couldn't help but feel that he'd made some progress in that regard. Maybe he was only a couple pieces short of solving the puzzle. Maybe if he just stuck with it, everything would fall into place.

"People are idiots." A famous general had once said. But within the Han family, the most treasured ancestral quote had come from a nurse. It was, in fact, the official motto of the Han clan: "Patience is the best remedy for any trouble."

* * *

Patience...

Lunch was bored. She glanced around to ensure that nobody was watching, smirked and pulled a large gun out of thin air.

Or at least, that's what it looked like.

Technically Lunch was only thirteen years old. She didn't look thirteen. She'd never really looked her age - always few years older. It was the smoking, probably, that aged her. And the fighting. And... Well. Her hormones had kicked in rather early in life so her body had the shape of a twenty-three year old woman.

Lunch viewed this as benefit. She never got carded and her employers didn't inquire about her qualifications as often as they would have if they'd realized her true age. Most people assumed that she was an adult. Lunch encouraged this. She frequently lied about her age, always claiming to be over twenty-one but generally staying under the age of forty-five. On the wanted posters that the police hung in public buildings, her age was listed as twenty-six.

But Lunch was thirteen. And if a squadron of trained soldiers could have seen her in that moment, she would have frightened them. Because a thirteen year old girl should not be so skilled with modern weaponry.

Key word: modern.

Lunch did not pull the gun out of thin air. The gun came out of a small capsule. Lunch was just so fast - so familiar - with the gun that to the untrained eye, it would look as if she had pulled the gun out of nothingness. While not magic, this was quite a trick. The capsule went poof and the gun materialized. The gun could materialize with its barrel pointing in any random direction, which was why most soldiers made sure that their guns were empty of bullets before capsulizing the weapons. Lunch simply twitched her fingers and poof - there was the gun. Loaded and pointing in the right direction, every time. Right in her hand, ready to use. There was no doubt about it. The girl had talent.

She seemed to prefer large firearms. The weapon that had materialized... Wasn't so much a 'gun' as it was a cannon with a trigger. It was, in fact, precisely the type of weapon that could reduce a small capsule house to a pile of smoldering ashes.

Lunch smiled at her bent reflection in the polished surface. Then, with a twitch of her fingers, the weapon vanished. Lunch pocketed the capsule and tapped her foot against the ground. Waiting.

She was thirteen but she lied about her age. And that wasn't her only lie. Her name wasn't really Lunch. Her clients, her rivals, the police... She didn't want them to know her real name. She didn't want anyone to pull up all her personal files, the old ones that still had her real name attached. It wasn't wise, in this business, to give such valuable information away. So she went by Lunch. Short, sassy, uncommon and easy to remember - it was a good name to work under. And she had worked under it for just long enough, now, that she was starting to forget her real name.

Most thirteen year old girls cling to their identity. Most teenagers in general want to be heard, seen and known for who they are.

Lunch was glad to forget her past. She'd been trying to forget her past for... Forever, it seemed like. Her age, her real name - she didn't want to be associated with those things anymore. She let them go. As long as she had her guns, a pack of cigarettes and a job to do then she could be content.

The cigarettes were the irony. Lunch craved them. She felt a surge of happiness whenever lighting up. But the happiness was fleeting because the smoke... Lunch couldn't smell or taste the smoke anymore. She was grateful for that much. Yet it wasn't the health issues that disturbed her, it was the memories. Cigarette smoke... Just the sight of it. The place where she'd grown up - Lunch couldn't think of it as 'home' because she'd never felt 'at home' there - had been in a constant haze of cigarette smoke. Lunch hated to remember that place. She'd even tried to quit smoking once or twice, wanting to avoid the memory cue. But the symptoms of nicotine withdrawal always made her so miserable that within a day of quitting, she'd be back to smoking. The only thing that she'd ever managed to completely give up on was the idea of dropping her smoking habit. These days, Lunch chose to endure the fragmented memories rather than get sick from withdrawal again.

She didn't even want to think about it. So as she stood, tapping a foot and scowling at the cigarette that she'd lit, she forced her attention away from the past.

Servants. Lunch had spent the better part of the day working with the servants. That had been enlightening. Outside of the endless supply of amusing gossip and the discovery that she had a knack for sewing, Lunch had gained a new understanding for the role of servants.

At first, she had thought that servants were... Well. She hadn't respected the concept. 'Servant' sounded too submissive. It was a title that invoked the mental image of someone that did a ton of work for virtually nothing in return. Someone who, for whatever reason, just couldn't make it on their own in the modern world. Low-class, uneducated, dirt-poor, ugly. A walking disease factory that lacked anything remotely akin to self-esteem. That's what Lunch had imagined a servant to be. Her views had changed.

Now she knew that servants - the ones who worked for Imperial City, anyway - were actually average middle-class people who were fairly well cared for. They did in fact do a ton of work but in return... Servants got a uniform, a place to live, three meals a day, health benefits, a paycheck, job security and all kinds of free on-the-job-training.

Some of the servants chose to follow family tradition, these were the ones who took pride in saying that their family had served the Meiji Emperor for such-and-such number of generations. But most of the servants in the lower passage were young people who couldn't afford college yet. So they came to Imperial City and learned new skills. Soldier, maid, nurse, doctor, massage therapist, tailor, chef, gardener, teacher, librarian and beyond. There was a required amount of time that a servant had to work but after the contract had expired, they could leave whenever they pleased. And many of the young people did leave. They would go back into the modern world to get jobs or start their own businesses and they would often brag about having been trained inside Imperial City.

Lunch knew that she wouldn't be inside Imperial City very long. Certainly not long enough to work the amount of time required by her servant contract. A shame. Lunch almost regretted it. Almost. The lower passage seemed like a decent place to live. But Lunch was here for a different job - one that promised to pay quite a lot more than servant wages, if everything worked out.

The creak of nearby tile and a swish of long robes made Lunch straighten up. Her client had finally arrived. Lunch allowed her cigarette fall to the ground and took private delight in crushing the last embers under her heel.

"Are they dead?" The client whispered.

"The samurai?" Lunch replied. "No. Just homeless, paranoid and scattered. As you ordered."

The client smiled. "Very good. Now about the next target -"

"No." Lunch shook her head for emphasis, a few stray blond curls falling into her face. "We can't touch the Emperor. Not yet. I've heard some things. He's protected. More than usual, I mean."

A pause. The client frowned. "We shall see. I give the orders here."

"You can give the orders." Lunch countered in her most intimidating tone. "But I'm not going to act on any orders until the time is right."

Another pause. The client shifted uncomfortably. "What have you heard?"

* * *

"Tao Pai Pai!" Exclaimed a voice on the other side of the room.

Yajirobe suffered a moment of deer-in-the-headlights syndrome. Every thought that had been in his skull mere seconds before vanished; leaving him wide-eyed, rigid and nervous beyond the bounds of rational thought. Adrenaline kicked in and he recovered from the slight disorientation with a sense of alarm.

_What in the world...?_

Samurai were still mortal. They had to eat once in while. Yajirobe wasn't particularly fond of the concept of fainting in public, especially not in a city full of strangers. So he'd cut short his visit to Meiji Public Library to come here, to the Miyamoto Cafe.

He was beginning to regret that choice.

He'd only come here for something to eat. But fear and confusion were rapidly diminishing his appetite. It wasn't the fact that someone in the cafe had mentioned Tao Pai Pai, one of the worlds most notorious assassins. It was the specific voice. Yajirobe recognized that voice.

Master Wen.

If he peered around the menu, he could see his teacher. What was Master Wen doing here?

Under regular circumstances, Yajirobe would have approached his sensei and asked. But these were not regular circumstances. First of all, Yajirobe wasn't supposed to be in the Meiji Capital. Master Wen had ordered him to take a message to the World Emperor only yesterday - so Master Wen wouldn't be pleased to see that Yajirobe was still in the area. Second of all, the entire situation just felt wrong. Off. Weird.

Master Wen wasn't alone. He sat in a booth on the opposite side of the room with three other people. Yajirobe had no idea who these people were. Over the years Master Wen had introduced his students to the majority of his personal friends but these three that shared Master Wens booth... Yajirobe didn't recognize any of them. Most of the conversation was held at low volumes, with heads bent together over the table in a conspiring fashion. It looked like some kind of business meeting. It looked planned. Organized. The group on the other side of the room... The way they behaved made it clear to Yajirobe that this was not a spur-of-the-moment reunion of old chums.

Yajirobe listened as hard as he could but the details of Master Wens discussion were lost to the noise of the cafe. The clinking of kitchenware, the sizzle of a grill at work, the instrumental music being played on the intercom, conversations at other tables, the waitresses asking if anyone needed more water or tea. The only words that Yajirobe had overheard clearly so far had been 'Tao Pai Pai'.

Why would Master Wen and three strangers be meeting here to talk about a notorious assassin? 

And... Mikata...

Mikata had gone off in search of Master Wen yesterday evening. Yajirobe felt a knot of anxiety take shape in his stomach while a chill crept down his spine. Being a humanoid fox, Mikata had an excellent sense of smell and semi-sensitive hearing. He was adept with a sword and even more skilled at tracking people down. These things considered, Mikata should have found Master Wen. Easily. So... What could have happened to Mikata? If Master Wen was here then why wasn't Mikata here as well?

Yajirobe couldn't shake the feeling that something bad might have happened to his friend and yet... He couldn't make himself believe that Master Wen had done anything evil. He refused to even contemplate that option. Master Wen was his teacher, his mentor. Master Wen had saved his life on several occasions. Someone else in the city must have done something to Mikata. Heck, maybe Mikata had just gotten tired or lost. Meiji was quite a large place and the samurai hadn't worked in a city for a while.

Loyalty was like oxygen to a samurai and Yajirobe felt as if he were being choked. Although talented at keeping a low profile, Yajirobe had never imagined that he'd be hiding from his own sensei. It seemed ridiculous. Simply watching from a distance as Master Wen and the three strangers talked made Yajirobe feel guilty. Why was he spying on his trusted teacher? He had no evidence, no reason to believe that they had done anything wrong. It was dishonorable to be so nosy. Dishonorable to fail to carry out reasonable orders. Perhaps he would leave later and rush Master Wens message to the World Emperor.

But first, he had to find Mikata.

* * *

Imperial City. Eighty-one grand buildings - and that was just the main palace. There were thousands of other, slightly less grand, buildings scattered across the vast compound. Noble estates, servant dorms, temples and schools and stables and tool sheds. Libraries and art galleries. Laundry rooms, medical offices and bath houses. Guard towers.

Thousands of buildings. Millions of rooms. And yet in all this space... There were exactly three places where the Emperor could be alone. 'Alone', in this context, meaning that the Emperor could actually go to these places without the usual escort of servants, ministers, politicians, tutors, entertainers and Imperial Guards. But privacy was not so easily attained. The Emperors usual escort would typically accompany him to these sacred places and then settle down at a discreet distance.

With one very important exception.

Of the three places inside Imperial City that the Emperor could escape to, there was one where the Imperial Court could not follow. It was forbidden. Illegal. Anyone who came anywhere near the Golden Lotus Pavilion without the Emperors express written permission could be punished with death, no trial needed.

The Emperor was fifteen. He just barely visited the pavilion often enough to prevent stares of disapproval and nasty rumors of neglecting his duties to surface. It wasn't that the Emperor didn't enjoy his visits - awkward though they tended to be - it was just that... He was aware of the need for caution. Being fifteen years old and in charge of an empire had many consequences. The Emperor knew that he was close enough to adulthood. The Imperial Court wasn't likely to appoint a new Regent. He knew that, under the circumstances, he should visit the pavilion more often. But quite honestly, the prospect of choosing a wife just plain terrified him.

Imperial concubines were not slaves. These were the educated daughters of wealthy and powerful clans. And while the ladies were always polite, the Emperor had to doubt that any of the girls truly loved him. Social climbers, every one of them. They were probably just after his wealth and political power. Closer ties to the Imperial Court. More land, more influence - this was what the noble families wanted. This was why the noble families were so eager to volunteer their daughters for concubine duty.

So the Emperor had retreated to one of his other sacred spaces instead. The Three Tier Temple. It was, in appearance, not a temple at all but a wide marble platform consisting of three concentric circles. The ground level represented the Earth. The middle tier was elevated slightly and represented all the living things on Earth. The third tier - the smallest and most elevated marble circle - represented heaven.

The Emperor hovered above the third tier. He had come here many times in his life. At birth, he'd been placed on the third tier and declared holy. He'd returned a few years later to inherit the crown. Nine times a year, during various traditional festivals, the Emperor was required to visit the temple to give heavens blessing.

Like most important things inside Imperial City, the Three Tier Temple was built on a massive scale and so the top tier offered a fairly decent view of Imperial City overall.

The Emperor had always enjoyed the view. He could see the shadow of the distant outer wall from here, that was the main attraction. The Emperor was content to hover and imagine what was beyond that horizon, what the world outside Imperial City might look like. However there were also unexpected benefits in being able to look down on his private world once in while. Even though he'd seen most places inside Imperial City several times over, looking at it from this angle...

Inspiration struck. A plan started to take shape.

Between what information he'd been able to get from reading Hans mind and the information that he had picked up elsewhere, the Emperor had a fair idea of what was going on now. A theory. He needed to test it, though. Needed to confirm his suspicions.

The Emperor knew that others still saw him as a target and, more than likely, also a suspect. But the Regents death wasn't a mystery anymore, not in the Emperors mind. This was a game, not a fun game but one of strategy. And it was his turn to play. A liberating decision. Instead of sitting around and waiting to see what happened, he was going to do something. Directly. Finally.

This, the Emperor thought, was how a god should feel. He prepared to drift downward and set his plan in motion.

And then something happened. Something that had never before happened in the young Emperors life.

A distant horn sounded - echoing through the compound. This was followed by another horn blast from a different guard tower. The people clustered below began to murmur and shuffle about. A thunderous metallic squeak sent the Imperial Court into a frenzy. All the nobles were torn between standing near the place where the Emperor was or running off to their regular positions inside the Hall of Supreme Harmony.

The Emperor remained where he was, fascinated. Amazed. The front gates of Imperial City... One by one... Were swinging open. Right in front of him.

A tall banner came into view, dark red silk decorated with bright yellow calligraphy. Parading towards the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Announcing the arrival of the monks - all of them, apparently - from Dragon Pagoda. Another series of horn blasts. Another banner. Orange silk with dark green calligraphy this time, accompanied by a drum beat and chanted prayers. Orinji Temple.

But the Emperor hardly noticed. In his own eyes, in slow motion, the banners and the Imperial Court simply ceased to exist. Every ounce of his attention was riveted to the opening gates. And just for a split second... His mind touched the edge of the world beyond. The Emperor glimpsed the glassy skyline of modern Meiji City. Felt a new kind of magic crawl up his fingertips.

* * *

"Damn." The Crane Master hissed, rubbing his forehead.

The people around them had gone silent with astonishment and were now staring upward. The Emperor, still hovering above the third tier of this holy place, was encased in light. Shining like a star. An impressive triple rainbow was taking shape around the palace. The power level... Wasn't much, really. Just enough to make the Crane Master feel as if he'd been smacked with two-ton sledgehammer.

"I thought you said..." Tao began to whisper, anxious.

The Crane Master gave his brother a withering glare that translated to: _I KNOW what I said, you idiot. Now shut up!_

How was it possible? The Emperor wasn't supposed to be capable of this. The Crane Master had studied generations of Meiji Emperors. He knew the rules. Location was supposed to be the big factor in magic. The Meiji Emperor could only use magic in certain places. And right now, they were outside of the Imperial Palace. The Emperors power was supposed to be weakened. But it wasn't.

Perhaps location wasn't the only factor for the current Emperor. Maybe some of his magic was driven by emotion as well. If not for his throbbing headache, the Crane Master would have found this little piece of trivia quite intriguing.

Tao huffed and followed his grumbling elder brother on a quest for aspirin. What a mess this was. All this work and for what...? The Emperor didn't seem to need their protection after all.

* * *


	7. Alternatives

_Blasphemy_

by DoraMouse

* * *

**Alternatives**

_**"Of all the thirty-six alternatives, running away is best."**_

Ancient Chinese Proverb

* * *

Monk.

The effect of the gates swinging open, the effect of the outside world coming into view... The concept that Imperial City had a large group of formal visitors for once... Inside Imperial City the arrival of the monks was cause for excitement, panic and awe.

Outside Imperial City, the reaction was much the same.

Modern Meiji Capital came to a temporary but screeching halt. Traffic accidents abounded as people stopped to stare. The gates swinging open was a momentous event on both sides of the wall. People in the modern world got their first distant glimpses of Forbidden City, a place that they had only ever seen paintings of since photographs were not allowed.

For the most part though, it was the monks that captured the attention of the modern residents.

If the monks had arrived by van or bus or airplane, no one in Meiji Capital would have noticed. But these monks were walking. Marching along in traditional bright robes and wooden sandals, chanting prayers and beating drums. Carrying packs and wearing enough dust to imply that they had been walking for a very long time. That, perhaps, their entire journey had consisted of walking.

In a city full of vehicles that hovered, the very notion of walking a distance of more than ten feet was such a novelty that crowds gathered to watch the spectacle in bewildered silence.

Monk.

Like the rank of samurai, monk was considered an outdated title. The modern world had moved on. Religion was still popular in a few scattered places but for the most part, people had learned to rely on their own instincts. The truth of it was that as much as humans enjoyed having social support systems and places to turn for comfort, nobody really wanted to be told what to believe. Everyone had their own ideas about the meaning of life, death and all the events inbetween.

It wasn't even spoken of anymore. Monks. Such irony. Once, they had been seen as respected teachers and counselors but public scrutiny had not been kind to religious authorities. The topic had begun with a few simple questions and had degenerated into name-calling and finger pointing before dying out of discussion all together. Monks were, after all, mortal men. And what gave mortal men the right to claim immortal knowledge? The stereotype of wise old men living in scenic mountain regions had transformed into something far more grim, morbid and cultish practically overnight.

Dragon Pagoda had, in fact, been at the center of this politically charged storm. It had started with a single arrest. It had ended two years later with more than half the monks in jail. Or rather, back in jail. Escaped convicts, every one of them. Threats and debates had been exchanged. Senior members of Dragon Pagoda had claimed immunity to the law and had screamed about having the divine right to accept any male who happened to show up on their property as a monk, no background check needed. The World Government had answered these protests by casually passing laws that demanded not only drug and background checks on all monks but safety inspections of all temples. Dragon Pagoda had spent the better part of a century condemned.

Monk.

The people in modern Meiji Capital watched as the monks entered Imperial City. The nobles inside Imperial City watched. The servants of the lower passage were watching as the procession moved past their homes. Yet despite the many pairs of eyes that had settled upon the parade... Nobody saw a trigger being pulled.

* * *

Gunfire. Panic.

_What kind of idiot...?_

Lunch had to fold her hands behind her, biting down on her lip as she stood back from the doorway of the laundry hut. She hated gunfire. The sound of it - so full of contradictions. Sharp and blunt at the same time. This was why Lunch had silencers on all of her weapons.

Another shot. Someone screamed in pain.

Lunch trembled, more with defiance than anxiety. Her hands ached with the urge to reach for her own gun. But no. This was not the time. She knew better. Having a gun right now would only make people think that she was the guilty one and she wasn't. She had no idea who had taken aim at the crowd.

Whoever it was... Lunch slipped into soldier mode. Clear thinking - that was the key to survival. Insanity, some people called it. What sane person could be calm at times like these? Lunch was not exactly sane. The things that Lunch had been through in her life left no room for sanity or fear. She had survived so much already... She was numb, in some regards. People running and screaming and trying to hide didn't phase her in the least. Who had time to be afraid? What good would it do? Life was too short. So Lunch relaxed. Her mind became detached. Distant. Analytical. Watching the people outside as if they were a film.

Someone had wanted this. Someone had wanted to scare the crowd. That explained the gunshot. The noise was an effect. For all Lunch knew, the gun could be loaded with blanks. Because if you were going to scare a crowd then all you really needed was the noise. The scream of pain... Was it another effect? Had someone actually been hit by a bullet? Or had someone, somewhere, just screamed?

Lunch knew from experience that people were prone to assume things, take things for granted. A gunshot, a scream... Maybe someone had been hurt. Maybe not. She wasn't going to rush to any conclusions. She'd seen this trick before. A professional tactic. Distract a crowd...

From what? That was the question. Distract the crowd from what?

The monks of Dragon Pagoda, Lunch noticed, had remained in formation. Marching towards Forbidden City. Meanwhile the members of Orinji Temple had been scattered by the mass of retreating people.

Lunch blinked and concentrated. With intense focus, her hearing became selective. The clamor of frightened people... The earth-shaking creak of the Imperial Gates being forced closed... The traffic of the modern world... All of that vanished, as if the volume had been turned off.

Bang. Another shot. Over there.

If the gunshot was _there_ and the scream of pain was _there_ and the people were fleeing in these directions... Then the person with the gun had to be... Inside Imperial City. Inside the lower passage. 

_Where?_

Lunch frowned. Her quick calculations lacked a few important variables. Range, for example. The size of the weapon affected the range. If it was a small gun... Her eyes flickered to the open window of a bakery across the street and then to the slanted rooftop of a grain silo. Every tree, building and patch of shade along the road became suspect. If the gun was larger... Then the shots could have been fired from further away. Unless...

Intent. That was the other main factor missing from her mental equation. Intent. Was the person with the gun shooting blanks into the air? Or were they taking aim at a specific target? Was there more than one person shooting?

If you were going to scare a crowd on the ground... How close did you dare get? How close was close enough to get a good shot without being seen, without being in danger of getting trampled?

Bang. And this time, Lunch saw it. The bullet. A streak of hissing air, a glint of metal, the scent of warm gunpowder. Her eyes traced an invisible line backwards, leaving the bullet to its destination. Searching instead for the source.

Across the street, inside the bakery, a shadow passed the open window.

* * *

The gates of Imperial City were closed. The outside world seemed further away than ever, hidden from view once again. Below, there was sadness and death. Confusion and fear.

And monks from Dragon Pagoda.

Were they monks, really? The Emperor didn't know these people. These people came from the outside world - which was, as far as the sheltered Emperor was concerned, roughly the same as saying that they came from an alien planet. The monks were just humans in robes. Or creatures in robes, actually. From where the Emperor was hovering, he couldn't be sure of their species. From this distance, they certainly looked human enough. And they might even be monks. But what else were they?

He didn't need to touch their minds. The intent was clear. These so-called monks who had remained calm in the midst of the... The Emperor did have to read minds for the next bit. _Gunfire._ Ah, so that's what the noise was called. He'd never heard a gun before. He had no desire to ever see such a weapon.

Why wasn't he angry?

Being psychic often came with the burden of losing track of oneself. When you can read other peoples minds, it is easy to stop thinking on your own. The Emperor was typically so aware of other peoples feelings that he couldn't always spare much attention for his own emotions. But on this occasion... He was keenly aware of the absence of anger. He had every right to be upset, yet he was not angry. These... Strangers from the outside world... They had come into his home with hostile intentions. They had allowed him a glimpse of life beyond the walls and then had promptly taken the vision away. They had brought violence and disruption and...

His Imperial Guards... The Emperors eyes widened. The guards had not been injured by the gunfire. The guards were not fighting back. Had the guards surrendered due to fear of modern weaponry? Or had the guards expected...?

The Dragon Pagoda banner advanced. The gate was closed behind the presumed monks. They were inside. Trapped inside. They were not turning back. The Emperor waited. Watching.

"Son of Heaven," Called one of the robed creatures, "Come down. We must speak."

Denial crumbled away. The Emperor scowled and spread his fingers. His palms itched and glowed with an energy that he had not felt before. It was not anger. There was no accurate word for the feeling. The rules were breaking. These mortals... He was not supposed to even acknowledge them. But he did not want anyone else to speak on his behalf. The Emperor looked down. "You do not give me orders."

* * *

For nine years, Yajirobe had been fighting and escaping death. He had experienced the warriors phenomenon of seeing red. At times of near unconsciousness, he had witnessed the world fading to darkness. A minor concussion had inverted colors for a few days and different injury had once allowed him the opportunity to view the world in grayscale.

Thus the world going to sheer white for a couple minutes didn't bother Yajirobe too much.

Perhaps it was a joke of the gods. Yajirobe wasn't sure. Being temporarily blinded by bright light seemed logical but to be deafened by it as well... Was strange. The world had both faded from view and gone silent. Where had this wave of light come from? What had caused it? Yajirobe had a hunch that it was some kind of magic. But he was outside of Imperial City, out in the modern world. There wasn't as much magic here. Not as many magicians, either. Was this light some hi-tech explosion going off by accident? Nuclear meltdown? End of the world?

No. _There._ A hint of color invaded the whitescape. Grey. Brown. Sidewalk. Skyscraper. The world was coming back, with all its sights and sounds. Yajirobe blinked and glanced from side to side. Vehicles had crashed. People were sitting on the pavement, slowly getting up from where they'd fallen. Even the local birds and insects seemed dazed.

So they'd seen it too. Hrm.

What ever had happened, had happened. Nothing could be done about it right now. As quickly as the light faded, Yajirobe resumed the task at hand. The search... The search had become a chase of sorts. Mikata...

It was possible, of course, that Mikata was distracted. Or maybe this was a trap. Perhaps Mikata was only pretending not to have noticed Yajirobe following at a distance.

As he moved quickly past the complaining crowds, Yajirobe prayed that Mikatas ignorance was sincere. The odds were against it. Mikata was practiced in the arts of tracking and stealth. Mikata had the sensitive hearing and heightened sense of smell. Sneaking up on Mikata was, in Yajirobes experience, close to impossible.

Was Mikata luring him into a trap? Or was Mikata exhausted and hungry to the point where he didn't notice anyone following him? It was alarming, either way.

Yajirobe crossed a street and caught sight of his friend a few yards ahead. The humanoid fox did appear to be tired. A stagger in his step, the drooping tail, the bent posture. Mikata was not the sort that usually stared at his feet. Maybe he was hurt?

It was only by coincidence that Yajirobe had found Mikata at all. He'd barely left the Miyamoto Cafe when he'd first caught sight of his friend. So perhaps Mikata HAD seen Master Wen. And Mikata was the elder apprentice, maybe Mikata had recognized the people that Master Wen had been speaking with.

Yajirobe could not see his friends expression but he did not need to. He could see the gleam of a sword blade, that was enough. The fox had a firm grip on the hilt of his katana. The sword was only partially exposed - a warning. When samurai carried their blades this way, keeping a distance was a good idea.

And the quiver, the leather pouch where Mikata carried the arrows that he made for his crossbow, was empty. Not a good omen. Hunting for food would not require so many arrows.

The answer to Yajirobes unspoken concerns took the form of a shriek and a flurry of movement. Yajirobe realized, then, that he was not the only one following Mikata and that Mikata knew, at least, about the others tracking him. He abruptly understood why Mikata had left the crowded streets behind. Duels were illegal in the modern world. Too much chance of some innocent bystander getting hurt.

Samurai tradition stated clearly that the warrior who started a battle - any battle - was the nervous one, always. Thus the warrior who made the first move was considered the least disciplined and most afraid.

Mikata stood in an alleyway. A group of five humanoids had followed him. To a regular person, one against five was an unfair advantage. To a samurai... Mikata had the unfair advantage. Because the group of five was so impatience and insecure, that they immediately attacked.

The trouble with attacking was that it left very little room for defense.

"Who were they?" Yajirobe asked after a few bloody moments.

Mikata did not turn away from the task of cleaning his blade. "Cowards." The weight of Yajirobes inquisitive stare lingered and Mikata eventually sighed. "I'll explain later."

Quiet between friends can have a hundred different meanings. This was the type of quiet that implied an argument.

Mikatas fur bristled. "Later." The fox repeated, grumbling this time as he resheathed his sword. "We shouldn't speak of it here." The words were blunt and so was the undertone. Mikata was tired. He probably wanted to rest before he shared the story.

Grudgingly, Yajirobe chose to let the subject drop. For now. "Fine." He offered out a hand and helped Mikata up. He let the weary fox lean against him as they left the alley. He changed to a conversational tone as they returned to the streets full of dazed citizens. "Did you see the white light as well?"

* * *

Han clung to the memory of color and sound. He'd seen and heard the world, just a moment ago. It felt like an eternity. _Patience._ Han forced himself to take a few deep breaths. Sound was returning, although the noise of the world seemed faint - drowned out by the pounding of his own nervous heartbeat. His vision should recover any second now... Han listened to his pulse and waited for the whitescape to fade.

It didn't.

A hundred thousand nagging fears raised their ugly heads. What if his vision failed to return? Had it been too long already? What would happen to him? What would his family think? Would they disown him? How could he solve a murder if he went blind? Without vision, how could he ever...?

No. No. He couldn't afford to think that way. Just wait a little longer and...

Han became vaguely aware that someone was standing right in front of him. He didn't actually see anything but he felt a presence. The presence was familiar. It wasn't a presence that he knew well enough to place but there was definitely somebody there. At least, Han hoped that someone was there. He hoped that he wasn't imagining things. He didn't know if he could trust his instincts at the moment. Without being able to see...

He'd never felt so terrified. Years of training had not prepared Han for the prospect of blindness.

"It's okay." A voice said, to Hans immense relief. So someone WAS there. But why did the voice sound so anxious? "We need to get out of here. Can you walk?"

Lack of vision had occupied all of Hans attention. He paused now, coming to terms with what the words implied. Han wondered when he'd fallen. He didn't remember falling.

"Come on." Someone pulled him to his feet, grabbed him by a wrist and started walking, pulling Han along.

"What... was... _that_!" Han stammered as he was guided. Walking quickly proved a challenge. He was still disoriented.

An awkward hesitation.

"I'm not sure." Came the reply. Then the voice took on a hint of pride. "Taiyouken, I think."

Han stopped walking. Taiyouken was a name that could be translated at least seven different ways but the basic meaning was _Sun Technique_. Sun was important. Solar attacks were attributed to the gods. How could the fragile Meiji Emperor have possibly...?

For some unfathomable reason, the person guiding Han flinched.

"Wait." Han had begun thinking a little more coherently. "Where are we going? Who ARE you?"

Another awkward hesitation.

"Uhm..."

Han mentally kicked himself for not being more cautious. How could he trust anyone right now? Just because he hadn't wanted to be alone and blind... How stupid, to lower his guard. It was dangerous. Walking off with some stranger to heaven-only-knew-where. Even if Han did recognize the presence, he couldn't remember where he'd sensed this particular presence before. The ki felt similar to the Emperors but that couldn't be right. The Emperor wasn't supposed to touch anyone.

A string of bitter thoughts surfaced in Hans mind. Impossible as it seemed, the Emperor must have used Taiyouken. Therefore, the Emperor had blinded him. The Emperor had ruined his life. Had it been deliberate?

"Chou Tzu." The voice interrupted Hans mental tirade, sounding apologetic. Why should this virtual stranger sound apologetic? And Chou Tzu - was that it? No middle name or first name or long title? Just... Chou Tzu?

Tzu was a title reserved for a master philosopher. Granted, philosophers were an eccentric bunch. That might explain the informal name. But... Han couldn't recall having met any noted philosophers recently. Where did he know this presence from?

"Call me Chou Tzu." The voice restated, as if saying the name again would make it sound more credible. "There wasn't any chance for introductions at our last encounter."

An image flashed across Hans mind. A memory. Yesterday. Before the fire, Han had been walking down a dark garden path. He had slammed into a boy dressed as a peasant. In retrospect, it seemed absurd. Why would anyone in Imperial City wear a peasant costume? The memory vanished into nothingness. The whitescape returned at full force.

Yesterday. Had it only been yesterday? So much had happened since then.

Han frowned, reluctantly letting himself be guided along once more. Wishing that he could see. The world would make so much more sense, he thought, if only his vision would come back. "You're the peasant I almost tripped over yesterday?"

"Yes."

Han remained skeptical. Irritated. "Aren't you a little young to be a master philosopher?"

"No."

Silence.

"Where ARE we going?"

Silence again. Not complete silence, though. Han could still hear the world that he could no longer see. His hearing did not improve to the point where it compensated for his lack of vision but... He could hear. The wind. The creaking and rustling of trees. The songs of bird and insect. The endless varied noises of people.

The sound of feet impacting the ground. Quickly. Behind...

Someone was running after them.

A shout and this time, Han recognized the voice instantly. He turned. What was his brother doing here?

The air was suddenly very cold. The hand that had been grasping his wrist was now on his throat.

"Tian Shan!" His brother shouted, the footfalls slowing.

He was the middle child of military family. He knew how to escape choke holds. There were a hundred ways to... But... Han felt as if his body had turned to stone. He couldn't move. Why...?

"Let him go!"

Chou Tzus voice was soft but full of authority. "A step closer and he will die."

* * *

The back door of the bakery evaporated. A pile of dust and pair of rusting hinges were all that remained. Lunch wasted no time. Cupboards and drawers were flung open. Lids were pried off of storage barrels. The contents of every oven and refrigerator in the area were closely examined. No hiding gunman. No guns. At gunpoint, every member of the cooking staff submitted to the search with minimum protests. Emptying their pockets revealed some interesting trivia and exposed some bad habits but none of the servants had so much as a bullet on them.

Some of the other people in the bakery were less fortunate. A cluster of people who had entered the bakery to flee the gunfire...

"Would you like to be put out of your misery?"

The offer hadn't been meant as a threat but it came out sounding that way. The injured adults refused. The rest backed away from Lunch, emptying their pockets without needing to be told.

Lunch knew that she scared people. But these people seemed too afraid. Recent events had no doubt been traumatic but was there something else?

Then the open window caught Lunchs attention and instantly puzzled her. It was a window in the front of the bakery. A small rectangular pane of glass placed high in the wall. A strange location for a bakery window. Because the window would offer a good view of the street below but it didn't allow anyone passing by to see the freshly baked goods. Undoubtedly, the building was ancient - odds were that the place had not always been a bakery - and perhaps the window had served some forgotten purpose long ago. But in the current floorplan... There wasn't even a window ledge. Opening this window was a feat that would require a ladder. Shooting from this window... Suddenly seemed impractical. There was no way that anyone could get up there without being seen.

Stare at the window. Pause. Squint. Frown. Stare at the people. Lunch did not always have to verbalize her threats. Staring was a language of its own. She watched the people with stern green eyes as their resolve collapsed. Her expression defiant and her stance predatory. Lunch had the attitude of a cat that had just spotted an injured mouse. Something had to give.

"It wasn't human." One of the cooks finally spoke in hushed tones, voice trembling. "We don't know what it was. It had a gun. It left through the window. We pretended to ignore it and it did us the same favor. I probably shouldn't even be telling you thi-"

Bang. The glass in the window shattered. The adults yelped and scattered. The cook hit the floor with a thud and did not get up.

* * *


	8. Fortune

_Blasphemy_

by DoraMouse

* * *

**Fortune**

_**"A great fortune depends on luck, a small one on diligence."**_

Ancient Chinese Proverb

* * *

Two hundred and eighty eight years old. For most humans this would be a joke, an unthinkable age. Impossible. Unattainable. Nobody lived that long. Who would want to, anyway? The natural aging process was capable of reducing the human body to a senile bed-ridden weakling dependent upon large amounts of medicine for survival by the age of sixty, nevermind two hundred and eighty eight.

But of course, there were exceptions to every rule.

Tao Pai Pai hated his age. Even if he WAS the youngest member of his immediate family, he couldn't escape the thought that he was far older than the average human being lived to be. He was almost three hundred, for crying out loud and...

And what did he have to show for it?

The Crane Master was three hundred and twenty-nine. Tao Pai Pai was two hundred and eighty eight. The brothers had talked about a great many things in their long lives but this was the one subject that Tao avoided. This was the painful thorn in his side. This was his private burden.

He had no wife. No children. No close friends. That much, Tao didn't regret. He had chosen his life of solitude. He didn't want to get attached to anyone that he would outlive. But the lack of a formal title bothered Tao. Profoundly.

Average people - regular humans - they had such short lives. Yet they managed to accomplish so much. It was incredible. And the prodigies just seemed to keep getting younger. Geniuses in the field of physics all seemed to be under the age of 27 these days. The World Chess Master was only 11 years old. The most renown violinist on Earth was 8.

Tao hadn't always been an assassin. Back in his youth Tao had worked many different jobs, had taken up several sports and had competed in all sorts of contests. He had tried to get rich. Had tried to get famous. And he had failed miserably, more than once. It wasn't that Tao had been particularly bad at anything - there had just always been someone a little better.

Two hundred and eighty eight years of taking second place or worse could make anyone cynical.

Eventually, Tao had gotten bored of the work. Had given up on his inventions and his research for cures. Had opted out of the sports and walked away from the competitions. He was tired of losing to children. Tired of being outdone. With each year that had passed, Tao had become more withdrawn. His envy of and resentment towards the 'average' people had grown.

This was how Tao had become an assassin in the first place. If you couldn't beat 'em - kill 'em. It had seemed like the sensible thing to do. That had been more than a hundred years ago. And during those early years in the career, Tao had been comforted. He had felt as if he'd finally found his niche in life, his purpose. Something that he enjoyed doing and something that he could do well.

Over the years, that comfort had faded. The doubt and insecurity had returned. Tao didn't enjoy killing people as much these days. But he wasn't about to give up a job that he felt secure in and was relatively good at.

Was he good enough?

More than a hundred years on the job and his brother - his own brother - referred to him as a student, nothing more. A student! An average person could achieve a black belt in a single martial art in as little as three years, if they were dedicated. A person with less than ten years of martial arts training might be so bold as to declare themselves a master warrior and few would challenge their rank. Yet here was Tao, two hundred and eighty eight years old and still being called a student!

Where was the justice? Had he wasted his life? Why couldn't he become the champion of anything? That's all Tao wanted. Just to be the best for once. The power. The respect. All of his relatives were masters of something. Why couldn't he...?

Tao would do it. He had to, his sanity would permit nothing less. Tao had survived a hundred years of harsh training and cold murder. He was probably the eldest mortal assassin on Earth. He was certainly one of the most feared. All he had to do now was find and kill the Worlds Greatest Assassin. Then the title would be his.

A simple plan. Tao knew that the current Worlds Greatest Assassin was inside Meiji Imperial City. Tao knew that the Worlds Greatest Assassin would probably target the Meiji Emperor. Killing the Worlds Greatest Assassin would bring Tao all that he desired - power and fame, respect and praise. Saving the Meiji Emperor was just an added bonus, an extra reward. The icing on the ricecake.

A perfectly simple plan.

Damn these impostor soldier-monks, or whatever they were, for interfering.

The Dragon Pagoda monks had brought a tiny piece of the Han Army with them. And the Meiji Imperial Guards appeared to be working with the rebels. Plus some hidden random creature had shot at the crowd repeatedly without hitting the monks, the concealed soldiers or the guards. There was bad politics at work here, no question of that. But the rebels had overlooked an important detail. Meiji Imperial City was home to rather a lot of assassins. And assassins were known to be a smidge territorial.

* * *

"If you are wise, you will gather your army and leave."

Chou Tzu didn't expect the soldiers to take his words seriously. He'd removed his mask earlier, during the Taiyouken when everyone else had been blinded. So Chou Tzu didn't look like the Emperor anymore. He was in his regular form: a slender teenage boy, around five foot tall, with tan skin and shoulder length dark hair. Since he was currently wearing a peasant costume, he didn't have so much as a single badge of rank on him. Which was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, the soldiers would probably figure that he was worthless. He could escape, perhaps, instead of risking capture. On the other hand... Because he didn't look like anyone important... The soldiers were far more likely to kill him outright.

"Retreat?" The elder Han brother sneered, confident in his military skills and unwilling to be intimidated in front his troops. "You're the one who's outnumbered."

Chou Tzu sighed and nodded in the direction of the Three Tier Temple. "Really?"

Half a dozen new corpses lay on the ground, most with daggers or darts protruding from some vital part of their anatomy but a few with gunshot wounds or strange burn marks. The Dragon Pagoda monks still living must have felt vulnerable out in the open because most of them were rapidly fleeing into buildings. Chou Tzu doubted that any of them would exit the buildings alive.

"Look. If you are here to kill the Meiji Emperor then you are going to have to take a number and get in line." Chou Tzu advised, sounding more irritated than threatened.

Insulted, the elder Han brother reached for a weapon... But the guns weren't hanging from his belt anymore. Nor was the officers sword. The soldiers that surrounded Chou Tzu blinked and then checked for their own weapons. They found nothing.

"You will need a better strategy as well." Chou Tzu continued, undaunted. "This has been the most pathetic murder attempt that I've ever witnessed."

"Agreed." Tao Pai Pai was leaning against the trunk of a tree, half hidden from view by drooping branches but quite clearly cleaning his fingernails with the tip of a certain missing officers sword. Tao flicked his fingers and the lower ranked soldiers fell to the ground in a silence that, for them, would be eternal. "Here's a proposal for you." Tao spoke to the elder Han brother, "Leave now and maybe you'll live long enough to tell the World Emperor to mind his own bloody business."

Chou Tzu was intrigued. His suspicions were confirmed. He'd reached the same conclusion, earlier. The World Emperor. But how had Tao Pai Pai realized this? Was it so obvious? How many others might know?

* * *

It was so obvious.

Back in ancient times, samurai had developed the tradition of expressing strong emotion by inflicting pain on themselves. The ancient samurai equivalent of _'Doh! I should have noticed that sooner!'_ had involved a very sharp knife and had frequently been fatal. Because samurai were so few in these modern times, it was generally understood that such extravagant and dangerous gestures were no longer needed. Samurai were now permitted to express sincere regret without risking death from blood loss.

For good measure, though, Yajirobe decided that he would suffer a punishment anyway. After having properly berated himself, he resorted to the worst non-lethal torture that he could find in the rented capsule hut: television.

Even with the volume turned down so as not to wake Mikata, it was brutal. As far as Yajirobe could tell, there was neither a plot nor any logical reason for anything that the characters did. Yajirobe managed to tolerate an entire twenty minutes - more than half of that dedicated to commercials - of programming. Then he had to turn the TV off. With shaking hands, he put the remote down. The notion of chopping the television set into a million little pieces was hard to resist. But he resisted it. There was work to do.

Television affects the minds of an audience. Modern neurological research has, in fact, studied the process. The medical conclusion - which the television industry promptly smothered - had ranked excessive television watching as being somewhere between going into a coma and extremely slow death by radiation poisoning. Because television killed braincells. Television disrupted brainwaves. Television could dull the senses. People watching television might not be as aware of their surroundings as they should be. Repeated, prolonged exposure to television had lasting and sometimes irreversible effects. In short, television had consequences.

Yajirobe had only been watching for twenty minutes. But the annoyingly catchy tunes from commercials would haunt him for days. Things that he hadn't even really been paying attention to... There had to be some sort of subliminal effect, because he'd remember them clearly without even wanting to.

It took a few attempts for Yajirobe to regain focus.

The World Emperor. That's where his focus needed to be now but Yajirobe drew a curious blank. He had never actually met the World Emperor. Never even been in the same room. The samurai had been hired by a government official. An agent of something or other. And the apprentice samurai hadn't had any direct contact with their employer. No, it was Master Wen who had taken care of the arrangements. As usual. Master Wen was the senior samurai, the mentor. Master Wen always took care of the work contracts.

Master Wen had said that they were working for the World Government. Master Wen had claimed that they had been hired by the World Emperor. Yajirobe had accepted both the statements as true. He hadn't had any reason to question the words of his sensei. Master Wen had better things to do than lie to his apprentices - or so Yajirobe had once assumed. Now he wasn't sure.

Whoever had hired them, the samurai had been sent to Meiji Capital with the mission of protecting the city. And the World Government had endorsed them. Yajirobe knew that much for certain. Because in Central Capital City, home to the World Palace, the samurai had made the news. Not the front-page headlines but still...

It was so obvious, now.

The World Emperor. What an ironic title. How frustrating it must be to have people call you the _World Emperor_ all the time and then to have to turn around and acknowledge independent nations. How could the World Emperor be content, knowing that his title was not accurate - that places like Meiji existed? Apparently, he couldn't. 

But the World Empire was a strange place, ruled by many forces. Including the media. It would look bad, if the World Army went storming into a little place like Meiji. The World Government could not get public support for a war. Meiji was not a threat to the World Empire.

So the World Government had sent the samurai to protect Meiji Capital and had talked about friendship with and support for Meiji in the newspapers. And then the World Government had secretly hired some private armies to do the dirty work for them. Because who would think to blame the World Government, if some random barbarians decided to obliterate Meiji?

The general public was a fickle bunch. As long as it wasn't their army fighting, their soldiers getting killed, their taxes funding the battle - they didn't care so much. Meiji could be wiped off the map and the world media might not even notice. The general public would probably react to the belated news of the massacre as if it had been a natural disaster, something unavoidable that no one could be blamed for.

It was an ingenious setup. The World Government would report the disaster and would pledge to send help to Meiji. The 'help' would settle in as residents, effectively conquering the smaller nation. Thus Meiji would quietly become a part of the World Empire. The history of Meiji independence would be reduced to nothing more than a memory and perhaps a faded roadside historical marker for tourists to visit. And the ambitious World Government would probably find a way to blame the destruction of Meiji on some other independent nation. Then, with the excuse of getting revenge on behalf of Meiji, the World Government could set out to conquer the other independent nations as well.

Samurai were noted for being skilled warriors. What most history books forgot to mention was that all true samurai had a deep-rooted hatred for any and every form of politics. Because samurai were not of noble blood. And so the true samurai saw, with their own eyes, that no matter who was in charge of the government... The peasants - or the middle class, as they were now called in the modern world - always got the rotten end of the deal. Governments were self-serving entities, most of the time. The only people that a government really took care of were the people who worked for the higher levels of that government.

Yajirobe turned these ideas over in his mind. What he had learned from Mikata had been enough to answer many of his questions. But there was a disturbing new question to add to the list of things that still required investigation.

Why would Master Wen agree to work with the World Government?

* * *

Han could not even begin to get his thoughts in order. There was dismay at his continuing blindness and increasing irritation with the situation in general but the rest - no. Too much. His other feelings canceled each other out. Thoughts were reduced to flicks against his consciousness.

Dead. That was the repeating pattern. Han was not dead, which surprised him. The stranger called Chou Tzu had released him. Tao Pai Pai had let him leave. Why...? And his own brother... How much of the Han Army was in Meiji Capital? Why was the Han Army here? Had the army followed him?

It bothered Han to think that an army could have followed him without his being aware of it. But the Han Army had some very practical technology at their disposal. The various transport hovercrafts, in particular, made it possible for the army to move quickly without leaving any visible tracks on the ground.

"... Sir?" Han ventured in as neutral of a tone as he could muster.

For a fleeting moment, Han struggled to remember his brothers name. Then he gave up. Because for as long as Han had been capable of speech, he'd always called his older brother Sir. Only their parents had ever used his elder brothers actual name. To everyone else, his elder brother was just Sir. It was a nickname that seemed appropriate - formal without being too affectionate. 'Sir' had worked. And, long before the elder brother had gained rank within the army, 'Sir' had stuck.

"We're being followed." Sir spoke in a tone that almost made it possible to imagine a wicked smirk. Sir had expected this, had wanted to be followed.

"Oh." Han murmured. So that's why they had been allowed to leave Imperial City.

Han wasn't even sure how they had left Imperial City - it must have been some secret route, he hadn't heard the gates opening for them - but he was certain that they had left. Because Imperial City didn't have a constant soundtrack of traffic noise. This had to be the modern Meiji Capital.

So they'd been allowed to leave because someone wanted to follow them. Someone who probably thought that Sir would lead the way straight to the rest of the Han Army. Someone who, Han concluded, was wrong.

Impulsively Han turned his head to glance back. Of course, he didn't see anything. While he hadn't forgotten the condition of his eyes, he was still in denial. Holding onto the idea that maybe the blindness would just go away if he ignored it hard enough. When his lack of vision remained, Han sighed and focused instead with his sixth sense. The awareness of ki flickered to life. Han detected Sir and the people around them. Somewhere nearby an aura sparked. Han recognized the energy signature. Tao Pai Pai.

Sir was seven years and many battles older than Tian Shan. Sir knew - and even enjoyed the fact - that they were being followed. So if they weren't going where Tao Pai Pai had wanted... Then where were they leading the assassin?

Han couldn't see. Without road signs and landmarks for guidance, his general sense of direction remained as lost as his vision. But as the ki of people became less frequent, Han understood that they were going somewhere empty and probably hidden from view. The slight change in temperature indicated shade and the damp smells in the air hinted at water and rust. The path was no longer as smooth as the pavement had been.

Sir stopped walking and shouted bold challenges, every word punctuated with a slow but boundless fury. In the world of energy... Tao Pai Pai was a mere whisper in the ki, barely noticeable as he scuttled around. Sir was a pillar of bright anger. Han knew the source of the anger. The soldiers that had gone into Meiji Imperial City... Sir had always been protective of his troops. He hated to lose trained soldiers - even more than he hated to lose battles. The need for revenge and justice hung thick in the air.

Han let go of his elder brothers shoulder and stepped back, automatically assuming a defensive posture. Han was not afraid of battle. Even without his vision, battle was too familiar a thing. Han had spent most of his life either fighting or training.

The fear, in fact, came from the lack of battle. Why hadn't Tao Pai Pai answered the challenges yet? Sir insisted that they should 'get things settled' here and now. Tao was circling. Would Tao fight at all or would the infamous assassin simply kill them? Dying in battle was respectable. But just dying...

Han suffered from a pang of anxiety that had been shared by warriors throughout history. Warriors that did not fear death in battle. Warriors that were, instead, terrified by the concept of dying without being given a chance to fight.

Deep down, Han did not want to die at all. He was fourteen years old and he had too many questions without answers.

For example, where exactly were they? Han was getting the vague impression of narrow streets and felt the weight of several hostile glares.

A short flashback hit, containing a memory of Sir as a child. Even back then - at the age of ten - he'd been called Sir. He'd been called many other things too, after the incident with the swarm of bees and the crocodile. Not many children could have survived the attacks from both. When asked why he'd run into the water in the first place, Sir had calmly pointed out that the river had allowed him to escape the bees.

The memory faded as swiftly as it had come. But the implications remained. Sir was twenty-one years old now and not much had changed. In spite of all his good intentions... Sir was still the sort of person who could, as the popular quote went, escape the frying pan only to get caught in the flames. For some inexplicable reason, Sir had an approach to warding off danger that had always involved stumbling across even more potent forms of danger.

Not a comforting thought. It meant that the place where Sir and Han now stood was likely more dangerous than Meiji Imperial Court. Dangerous enough, perhaps, to make Tao Pai Pai reluctant to come out of hiding.

_What place,_ thought Han with a barely suppressed cringe, _in the Meiji Empire is more dangerous than the Imperial Court?_

The faint discomfort that had been lurking in the back of Hans mind for some time now, slid forward. The pain was immense, concentrated most heavily in the center of his forehead. Han wobbled. He felt as if his knees were turning to liquid. He wondered if being blind would impair his ability to notice if he fainted. Then the bulk of the pain was gone. And, feeling badly out of place inside his own skull, Han saw the world swirling into place. Without knowing how, Han understood that his eyes were open but that someone else was looking through them.

He heard a voice swear. It took Han several minutes to realize that the voice was his own. Because the swearing was not.

* * *

It would have surprised some people to know that Lunch was not a complete feminist. She wore combat boots and carried large weapons in capsules and smoked and embraced virtually every vile unladylike habit that she came across - yet to some small degree, she supported the traditional values. Because the 'values' held some wonderful irony.

The ancient culture had made women out to be inferior. The ancient culture had said that women were not allowed to 'work' but had then included a long list of tasks that only women - not men - should perform. Cooking, cleaning, making and repairing clothes, preparing medicines, keeping the home presentable, providing entertainment in the form of music and dance... Ha. If all that wasn't 'work' then what was?

What Lunch respected about the traditional values was the particular climate they created. Back then, a woman was more or less forbidden to have intellectual pursuits. An utterly ridiculous concept. But what the ancient culture had done... Was make intelligent women illegal.

Naturally, women had rebelled against both the law and the notion that all females were stupid. The result had been a collection of brilliant and deadly ladies. Motivated women who had found ways to prove their point, had found ways to beat the men. Their world, their culture, had given them very little else to think about. So the ways were found - some more violently than others. Women had established themselves as inventors, explorers, healers, world champions in sports and games. Others had become hunters, bandits and worse.

There were still places in the world where women didn't have equal rights. How silly it was, how dangerous... Didn't people realize that a women with nothing but resentment to feel is the human equivalent of a time bomb? Even if the bomb goes off in small bursts instead of all at once... The impact is risky and lasting. Because a women who is stuck in the house all the time - who does the laundry and the cooking and the rest - will be sitting there with at least fifty household poisons and three times as many chances to use them. Daily.

Never trust food cooked by an angry woman with access to floor cleaning products.

Lunch had grown up in a place like that. She'd been constantly underestimated. In the process of proving herself she had destroyed a few buildings, more than a few vehicles and had even ended some lives. Or at least, Lunch thought so. Her memory wasn't clear on the specifics of the damage she'd caused. All she knew for sure was that she'd done quite a lot of damage and that she didn't regret a single shred of it.

The freedoms that so many modern women seemed to take for granted... Lunch felt akin to the ancient women, the ones that had been motivated to rebel. The ones that had demanded and then earned their rights.

Meiji Imperial City, Lunch realized as she departed the bakery, was tainted with the familiar sensation of frustrated women. The men were all employed by the government, given titles and ranks and stacks of paperwork. But the women - the noble women, not the servants... What did they do? What were they expected to do? What were they allowed to do? Just sit around looking pretty while taking orders from arrogant husbands?

Lunch was evidence that, legal or not, the women of Meiji Imperial City were not content to be mere decoration. The client for whom Lunch was currently working was female.

The client...

One last visual sweep of the front of the bakery with its broken window. One slow, hard look at the street full of corpses that had not yet been removed. No sign of the hidden gunman. The Imperial Guards and suspicious Dragon Pagoda monks were beyond the closed east gate, inside Forbidden City with the nobles. The scattered Orinji Temple monks and more than few of the Imperial City servants were now locked behind the west gate, the gate that lead out through the gardens to the modern world.

A grim little frown settled on Lunchs face and her eyes adopted a haughty slant. She wanted to search for, find and confront the gunman. She wanted to know what was going on, what kind of schemes were unraveling in Imperial City. But her duty, at the moment, was to her client. She had to find her client. Make sure the woman was alive. No point in doing work for someone who couldn't pay her, after all.

* * *


	9. Where We Are Headed

_Blasphemy_

by DoraMouse

* * *

**Where We Are Headed**

_**"If we do not change our direction, we are likely to end up where we are headed."**_

Ancient Chinese Proverb

* * *

The oblivious residents of modern Meiji Capital drove on - and hovered above, as their vehicles permitted - the roads as if they owned the asphalt. As if they had always owned the asphalt. As if the road had been there for thousands of years, never changing. As if nothing would ever change.

War didn't even occur to them. For these people, war was just something they read about in the newspapers or history books. Something that had happened a long time ago and something that happened in foreign countries. War. The people of Meiji Capital were distanced from the concept. There hadn't been a war recently. The last major battle on Meiji territory... Had been generations ago. And it hadn't even been on Meiji territory, really. Because back then the Meiji Empire hadn't existed. That ancient battle had taken place on Han territory.

So when the residents of modern Meiji Capital began noticing groups of young people in uniform, they automatically decided that perhaps the young people were in some sort of harmless new club. And the sight of an armored tank rolling down the highway had once caused people to wonder if there was going to be a parade. Like a hyper child screaming 'fire!' at a public swimming pool, the warning signs had turned a few heads and had earned a few strange looks but were mostly ignored.

In the modern world, the idea that a single hostile army would invade Meiji was openly laughed at. The possibility that several armies had invited themselves over for a cup of tea and a side dish of destruction was so absurd that nobody in the modern capital even gave the thought any serious consideration.

Well. Not _nobody_.

* * *

The boy was eleven years old and he did have a name. He just wasn't supposed to use his name, that was all.

Orinji Temple was not a place for names. The monks were part of a sect that continued to believe, despite all the recent historical research and startling DNA evidence to the contrary, that the human race was one big family. Thus names were nothing but sinful obstacles. At Orinji Temple, having a name was the same as having too much pride. Having a name, the elder monks insisted, got in the way of treating others with respect. Got in the way of seeing the truth.

So the only monks at Orinji Temple who had names were the dead monks. And the only reason the dead monks were allowed to have names was for the sake of the Temple Historian, who had utterly refused to keep records wherein everyone was referred to as 'elder', 'child', 'brother', 'sister' or 'cousin'.

The boy winced. Most of the time, the elder monks referred to him as 'little brother' or 'child'. It had been awkward at first because the boy knew that he wasn't actually related to any of these people. He had preferred to be called 'student' since acquiring an education had been his original reason for being at the temple. He wasn't very keen on the concept of the human race being a single large family. Most of the other boys at the temple were cruel to him - often calling him by more colorful titles, simply because of his particular height and his marked absence of a nose. Why would he want to be related to such brats? What kind of divine joy was that?

Apparently it was the same kind of 'joy' that approved of a shaven head, dark robes without pockets and wooden sandals that had the tendency to splinter. Did this mean that everyone else in the universe was doomed, just because of their names and clothing and hairstyles?

The boy was eleven years old. He didn't look his age since he happened to be rather short. He stood just over two feet tall, a height that he had learned to live with. A height that was truly aggravating when he had to get his robes altered so that he wouldn't trip on the hem with each step. And a height that had proven useful more than once, especially at those times when the boy had wanted to either sneak up on someone or hide from them. A height that did, in fact, have a cause.

Modern medical science understood a lot of things about the human body but the brain and its long-term responses to extreme trauma remained mysterious. There was no defined formula, no step-by-step process. Doctors couldn't be sure of what to look for or expect. Every person was unique and so was almost every case of trauma. Each victim had their own way of responding, of coping.

People would look at the boy and assume that he was a midget or perhaps a strange new species of human-animal hybrid. People might think the boy was cursed or that he had a bone disease. But no, the boy knew better. He didn't quite remember the details of what he'd been through - his brain wouldn't let him - but he did understand that something tragic had happened. That the experience had been severe enough to stunt his growth.

And so the boy noticed the warning signs of impending war. He saw the clues that multiple armies were in the area. Because some part of the boys mind was accustomed to seeing these sorts of things.

One sickening memory cue triggered another and another - threatening to cause a mental flood, a nervous breakdown. But this mind had its own defenses. The memories were abruptly shut off. No time to dwell on the past. The boy was living in the moment and if he wanted to keep living then he couldn't just stand around.

People were in danger here - didn't they realize it? Something had to be done.

What the boy didn't realize, as he fretted about the welfare of others, was that he had far too much energy to keep it all bottled up inside him. The painful memories, the long-suppressed emotions that stirred when those memories were activated... The boy had shoved them away with a cold and practiced efficiency. He completely failed to notice the change of temperature in the air around him. And he had never paid any attention to the way that lightbulbs and various other pieces of electrical equipment tended to explode or burn out in his presence.

The boy wasn't about to acknowledge his abnormal energy output. As far as he knew, it was just another flaw that he had to live with.

* * *

Seeing the world through the eyes of another is a philosophical saying. A metaphor. Not something that a person would expect to happen in the literal sense. And to hear your own voice speaking aloud... When you know that you aren't saying anything...

Possessed. That had to be it, Han decided. Because if he wasn't possessed then this was a mental breakdown. Although who could blame him - really? He'd been under some stress. And he'd been awake for almost... How long now? How many days? Han had arrived at Imperial City only yesterday. But Imperial City was not the sort of place that you traveled to in a modern aircar. Any halfway noble family more than a century old knew that it was far more acceptable - and thus, more likely to gain the approval of the Imperial Court - to travel by traditional methods when Imperial City was the destination. So Han had actually walked and ridden the entire way. And the journey had been full of it's own stresses. And he'd been so nervous about setting foot inside the Meiji Imperial Court... That Han hadn't slept well since leaving home. And he hadn't slept at all for at least a couple days prior to arriving in Imperial City.

A stupid error, in retrospect. Adrenaline couldn't last forever. How was anyone supposed to solve a complicated crime without getting some sleep? How was anyone supposed to defend themselves against being possessed when...

_You can't._

The stern thought appeared in Hans mind but it wasn't one of his own. So Han assumed that this invasive thought belonged to the person - or ghost or whatever - that had decided to possess him. And although his vision had returned - in a strange way that left him feeling detached, as if someone else were using his eyes while he stood in the background - he hadn't lost his ability to sense the energy of others. So Han was aware of the strange shift in energy. He couldn't pinpoint the location. Did the energy belong to the thing possessing him? Why did it seem to be everywhere?

_What ARE you?_ Han challenged. He didn't shout the question aloud because he doubted that anyone else had heard the telepathic voice.

There seemed to be an internal struggle. As if perhaps more than one creature was roaming around in Hans mind. Not a pleasant sensation. Han shuddered. For a moment, his eyes focused - with an abrupt ability to suddenly pick out tiny details half-hidden in shadow - on something. Someone that radiated a protective but mildly terrified and vaguely familiar aura seemed to want Han to notice the symbol carved on a door at the far end of the alley. But... Why? Was he supposed to avoid that door? Escape through it? Investigate it? The meaning wasn't clear.

Then the more harsh aura returned, bringing the smug mental voice with it. _Let me tell you a secret._

A picture flashed into Hans mind. An image of the Meiji Emperor. _See how small and harmless he looks?_ The owner of the harsh aura chuckled. _It's a lie. A deliberate lie. His very appearance invites - yes! invites! - hostile attention. And it's MEANT to. The Meiji Emperors would prefer to have their enemies come to them. Because they fight best in their own territory. Understand?_

Han was neither amused nor impressed. While the logic of this explanation was interesting, he disliked being thought at by such a condescending creature. _Answer my question. What ARE you?_

The harsh voice became more diplomatic. _Let us just say that I am someone who is not afraid to accept the Emperors 'invitation'. Although I must admit, I've been rather disappointed by the reception thus far..._

A new energy. A new mental voice. Very hostile. And familiar. The Crane Master. And while the Crane Masters thoughts were not directed at Han but at the unfamiliar owner of the harsh energy, Han could still hear them.

_What a shame._ The Crane Master mentally growled. _Hasn't hell lowered its standards enough that you could get in?_

Han was familiar enough with the modern world to understand the concept of a telephone. And he didn't much care for becoming the telepathic equivalent. _EVERYONE just GET OUT of my head! NOW!_

_Hmf. Touched by Heaven once and the boy gets all superior._ Muttered the harsh stranger. _Perhaps I should teach him some manners._

_You would have to HAVE manners in order to teach them._ Snarled the Crane Master.

Touched by... Heaven?

Han blinked. Confused. He'd been blinking rather a lot since recovering his vision but, until now, he had been too tired and distracted to notice that something was a smidge different. Because when a person blinked then... They might feel their eyelashes brush against their skin. And...

At this point, Han slowly started to realize something that everyone else in the vicinity had already noticed. His elder brother, Sir, had backed away from him cautiously and Tao Pai Pai actually seemed to be hiding from...

_Me?_ Han blinked again. And shook his head. Because it was odd, to feel the brush of eyelashes in the middle of his forehead. What kind of illusion...? Or maybe he was just so exhausted that...?

Whether or not he was dreaming... Han was most startled by his elder brother. Because Sir had always seemed very confident. Sir had rarely shown any sort of fear. So for Han to watch his very own brother - the one that he had always looked up to - retreating from him like this for no apparent reason...

"What curse is this, Tian Shan?" Sir hissed, raising a clenched fist but looking worried. "What have you become?"

It required a certain amount of effort not to stammer. "What do you mean? I'm your brother. Nothing has change-"

The last syllable never fell into place. Sir was retreating past a window. And the shade of the alley caused the window to reflect a view of Sirs back as he went past. And once Sir was out of the way... Han caught sight of himself. And before fainting from shock, his eyes widened.

All three of them.

* * *

"Bloody hell." Mikata grumbled. It was an accurate description of their newly turbulent surroundings. The humanoid fox flattened his ears back as he raised his sword to block and counter an attack. "Ugh...What a mess. Why do we even bother renting capsule houses?"

"Cause we can't afford to open a laundromat?" Yajirobe shrugged, parrying a blow with a kitchen knife in one hand and countering with the katana in his other hand.

There is some truth to the concept that it is a good idea to pay attention to what you opponent is doing during a fight. However there is also an exception to every rule. And for these samurai... Having a somewhat rational conversation in the middle of the battle and pretending not to pay attention... Was part of their strategy. Some of their opponents hated to be ignored - so those fools would rush in, expecting to have an advantage. And then Mikata would grab them and use them as a shield. Or Yajirobe would 'accidentally' give someone a haircut from the neck up.

Even through they were both apprenticed to Master Wen... They each had their own style. Mikata was very deliberate and open about his skills. His style aimed to annoy and intimidate as many of his opponents as possible. Because opponents who are annoyed and intimidated are more likely to make mistakes. Meanwhile Yajirobe managed to make most of his lethal attacks seem like lucky shots or complete accidents. Because Yajirobe felt that his enemies didn't need to know how good he was. If they underestimated him, it was all the more to his advantage.

"Hey!" Mikata dropped a deadweight and grabbed himself a new live shield, sinking his sharp little claws into the attackers neck. "Who hired you morons? Tell me, so I'll know who we should send the cleaning bill to."

Their attackers... Had apparently watched too many bad movies. A group of creatures in identical and concealing uniforms. They attacked with fanatical passion - always one or two at a time - and so far, had only opened their mouths to scream. And the screams usually went from angry warcries to dying gasps in the space of less than ten seconds.

"Hrm. No fashion sense. No monologues. No skill. Mikata - maybe these things are from a temple, yea?"

For samurai, fighting was a way of life. Not always a pleasant way - but a way. And while samurai did generally respect other ranks of warriors... There were certain groups that got teased. Since the majority of monks believed in peace and lived in relative isolation, cut off from the world beyond the temple... It was an accepted fact that temple monks did a LOT more study than actual sparring to practice the techniques. Granted - the wandering monks, who spent their lives going wherever their feet took them and who didn't hold too strictly to any doctrine, had developed a particularly fearsome warrior reputation. But because of the temple monks and their great reluctance to battle... The stereotype existed.

Peace was important. If people didn't want fight, that was fine. The samurai admired the value that most temple monks placed on the preservation of peace. But... Well. The samurai were also realists - and rather cynical ones, at that. They felt that martial arts were meant to be practiced, not just read about. Sending a bunch of bookworms to a battlefield... It wasn't just stupid, it was unfair. And insulting. How dare a temple send out a bunch of no-name amateurs to take down an experienced samurai! A warrior couldn't reach their potential without surviving a couple real skirmishes. It would be far more honorable - and fair - to get some proper training for the poor nitwits first. That way, at least, if either of the samurai did happen to get injured or killed... They could lose gracefully, content to have met a worthy opponent.

Samurai absolutely refused to die against opponents they couldn't respect.

Mikata pricked his ears forward and sidestepped an attack. Well. Not exactly. A human would have needed to actually move their feet to sidestep. Mikata just shifted his tail. On a regular fox, the tail makes up roughly half of the creatures total length. From a foxs nose to its rump should be nearly the same distance as from the base of the tail to the tail tip. Thus foxes - like squirrels and several other animals - used their tails to counterbalance their body weight. Mikatas tail was not quite on par with his humanoid form, but it was close enough.

"I think there's more of them outside." Mikata observed, his blade swirling around him in a way that made it appear to be several blades.

Yajirobe had been raised in a place where you took your shoes off before going inside. So he was always slightly annoyed whenever Mikata used a finishing move indoors. "Could stand some fresh air myself."

Mikata sniffed the air and frowned, his fur bristling. But his voice remained calm. "I think our sensei is with them."

"Fine." Yajirobe grumbled, shoving yet another attacker out of the way and moving towards a hole in the wall that their uninvited guests had created. It wasn't fine - not by a long shot - but panicking wasn't going to do any good either. "I've got some questions to ask him."

* * *

One of the troubles with storytelling is that, in reality, details are not always known. How - for example - do you begin to describe a character such as the Worlds Greatest Assassin? No one was really sure. The Worlds Greatest Assassin never posed for photographs or did exclusive interviews on talk shows. The Worlds Greatest Assassin was not listed in the phone book. In order to hire the Worlds Greatest Assassin, you had to write a letter and address the envelope to 'Death'. Thus none of the people who had hired this killer could describe the assassin. And of course, all the people who had been visited by the killer were now dead - but even their ghosts couldn't describe what they hadn't seen coming. Investigators all over the world had collected the files of unsolved murders and had tried to build a profile of this unknown assassin... But they had so little to work with. No fingerprints. No hairs or DNA samples. No puzzling riddles or tell-tale calling signs.

In fact, in most of the cases attributed to the Worlds Greatest Assassin, there were so few clues that the precise cause of death on the victim would remain unknown.

Sort of like what had happened to the Regent of Meiji. Nobody seemed to know exactly how or why or even precisely when the Regent had died. There weren't any marks on the body. No threatening letters or outstanding grudges. It had to be...

Lunch had learned about the Regents recent death both from the headlines and from the gossip of the servants. Her employer hadn't mentioned it and Lunch understood why. People got nervous, when the Worlds Greatest Assassin was in the area. Because no one knew what to look for. Nobody knew whether the legendary hunter was male or female, fat or skinny, tall or short. All that was truly known... Was that the Worlds Greatest Assassin was mind-boggling brilliant when it came to causing death without a trace.

Once, in her troubled past, Lunch had written a letter to Death. She hadn't expected anything to come of it. Because she had assumed that the Worlds Greatest Assassin would be very expensive to hire - and she hadn't been able to include any sort of payment with her letter. However... A week or so later... Someone had died. A very specific and rather cruel adult that Lunch had complained of in her letter. And so... Lunch had spent the next month feeling paranoid and checking her mailbox every few hours. But nothing had come. No explanation in a note signed by Death. No bill or receipt. No 'return to sender' on her original letter. Nothing. Lunch had never been linked to the crime. She had eventually run away from that place and now...

To think, that the Worlds Greatest Assassin was here somewhere. Close by. Again. Lunch flinched with a mixture of fear and excitement. She respected the Assassins ability to turn people into corpses but... If she could just figure out the killers identity... She wanted to thank this hunter. And maybe, if she proved herself, she could become an apprentice to her near-mythical hero.

Who could it be? One of the servant girls who did the laundry? The minister who sorted the mail?

The woman who had hired her?

A swirl of long robes. The creak of tile. The client, her employer... Lunch watched for a moment, as the woman paced. Good. So the woman was still alive. But this... This dainty little figure, all tied up in ribbons and pale blue silk... No. This couldn't be the Worlds Greatest Assassin. This was just the frustrated wife of a minor noble. The poor lady couldn't even arrange a vase of flowers without her husbands permission - so there was just no way that this woman could be gallivanting all over the planet, reading letters addressed to Death.

Lunch coughed. She'd only agreed to become a servant in order to gain access to the lower passage of Imperial City. She wasn't prepared to start bowing or acting formal around anyone - especially not to anyone who owed her money.

"_There_ you are." The woman advanced, sounding annoyed. Recent events in Imperial City had obviously not settled well with her. "Have you any idea what a _mess_ this is?"

"It's not our mess." Lunch shrugged.

"But it does affect our plans!" The woman frowned, struggling to keep her voice a whisper. "The Emperor has gone into hiding."

"Which should make him harder to protect." said Lunch. "In fact, this is a better time. With so many others searching for him... If the Emperor turns up dead, it would not seem too suspicious."

The client shook her head. "It would be a disaster!" She lowered her voice even more. "I wanted him to die _peacefully_. I wanted the Imperial Court to spend _months_ politely debating who the next Meiji Emperor should be. If the stupid brat dies now, we'll just be stuck with some rebellious monk or arrogant general taking the holy throne." The woman exhaled a grumpy string of colorful curses. She stomped - which was fairly hard to do in delicate wooden sandals - a few paces then folded her arms. "You'll have to punish them."

Lunch arched an eyebrow. "Who?"

"All of them." The woman gestured expansively. "For getting in my way."

"... All of them?" Lunch waited, hoping for a few more specifics.

"Start with those damned treacherous Imperial Guards. Just blow them away. I don't care how. The bullies - they deserve it. Twist their arms a bit, too. Find out who bought them. And get rid of the leech responsible." The woman huffed. "I'm sick to death of people ruining my plans. I'm not going to stand for it anymore."

"Let me get this straight. You want me to destroy the entire Meiji Imperial Army? And also the invading army? And anyone else, more or less, who has connections to both organizations? And eventually - I presume - the Emperor?"

The womans voice was like ice. "Is that a problem?"

"Doesn't your husband have connections to - ?" Lunch began.

The womans expression didn't change. "Like I said..." She grumbled.

_Hrm. Interesting._ Lunch circled her client without looking at the woman. "Bullets aren't free, you know. And what you have asked will require quite a lot of ammunition."

"The artwork in this room is worth a fortune." The woman nodded to indicate the large landscape paintings and classic sculptures that dotted the room. "Take what you need. Buy what you need. And get to work." The woman began to walk away. "If anyone asks questions, lie. If anyone questions your lies, find a way to shut them up."

On the one hand, it was nice to know that such a harmless looking woman could actually stand up for herself and give orders. On the other hand... Lunch didn't care to be treated this way. Because while Lunch didn't mind being a mercenary... She preferred to have only one or two targets per job. No mass murdering sprees.

Lunch studied the paintings. Maybe she would take some of the artwork. Smuggle a few pieces out of Imperial City. Sell it. Buy some new guns and a nice hovercycle. And then leave the country. That would be the smart option. Because this job just kept getting bigger, riskier and more ridiculous. How was she ever supposed to finish and move on, when her client suddenly wanted her to take down entire armies? Lunch didn't like to stay in one place for so long. Didn't like it when clients assumed they had control over her. No. She could leave and get another job and...

All over Imperial City, there were animals. The lower passage had been full of the animals that were - eventually - used for food. Fish and ducks and eels and oysters and sheep... But the Forbidden City was full of animals who were considered to be lucky. Little ponds full of goldfish, frogs and snapping turtles. Lucky crickets kept in latern-shaped cages. Swans and peacocks roaming the gardens. Falcons nested in the majestic upswept roofs. Horses and elephants were kept at the stables. And cats... Cats seemed to reside in every room of the Imperial Palace.

Out of the corner of her vision, Lunch noticed the movement. A tiny cat, slipping off one of the sculptures with a graceful leap. Except... Most of the palace cats were white or brown or black or yellow. Some had stripes and some had spots... But none of them - not that Lunch had seen - had fur that was blueish gray. And none of them could walk on air.

Lunch turned but the cat was gone, out of sight. She was almost certain that she couldn't have seen that - the cat couldn't have really been hovering - but... Then she thought of the high window in the bakery of the lower passage, the window that someone - someone small and someone without a ladder - had somehow managed to fire gunshots out of. And the last words of a nervous cook in the bakery had been: _"It wasn't human."_

It wasn't human...

What if... The Worlds Greatest Assassin... Wasn't human?

* * *

"Child." The elder monk sounded weary. "This is not our battle. We will retreat."

"But these people need to be warned!" The boy persisted.

The elder monk shook his head. "It is none of our business."

Yes - the Orinji Temple monks studied martial arts. But only for exercise. One of the core beliefs at Orinji Temple was the notion that every human alive on Earth was related. The monks liked to think of entire human race as one big family. Thus the monks considered it evil, in all but the most extreme circumstances, to get involved in any sort of human conflict. Because what could be gained by feuding with the family? Even to just warn someone... That could be seen as taking sides. And Orinji Temple did not take sides.

Already the tattered group of Orinji monks were retreating. They had been invited to Meiji Imperial Court to help bury the Regent. But it was obvious that they had arrived at a bad time. A spirit could not be properly laid to rest in the midst of a revolution.

"But... What about our brothers?" The boy continued, hoping to find a weakness in the elder monks resolve. "Some of our brothers didn't make it out of the Imperial City! The gate closed, they're locked inside! Are we just going to abandon...?"

"Our brothers share our beliefs, child. They would not wish for us to get involved. If they make it out alive then they will know where to find us. But if they can not leave..." The elder monk frowned as he cast a sideways glance towards the outer wall of Meiji Imperial City. "Then we must wait for a more peaceful time. We must wait until the people here have finished dying. Only then can we return to this place and bury the dead."

The boy remained where he stood, his anger and frustration were almost visible. "You want me to think of everyone as family." He muttered softly. "And then you want me to turn my back and walk away when this family might need my help. I'm sorry, elder, but I can not believe that a good brother would behave that way."

With a sigh, the elder monk paused his steps. His voice was harsh. "Then go. If you can not wait for the people here to stop dying... Then by all means, if it will make you feel better, child... Go. Go and die with them."

* * *


End file.
